


Prostitution is the World's Oldest Profession (And I, My Dear, Am a Professional)

by FredAndGinger, SpinalBaby



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, alternate universe- brothels, but violent, it's pretty great, most of the amis are escorts, non-con NOT between Enjolras and Grantaire, prostitution is legal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredAndGinger/pseuds/FredAndGinger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinalBaby/pseuds/SpinalBaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is in a legal, high end, whore house with his friends, trying to make the best of a bad situation. Enjolras is brought to said brothel against his will. Of course they fall in love. And of course whores falling in love is against the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prostitution is the World's Oldest Profession (And I, My Dear, Am a Professional)

Grantaire took his place on the usual couch as the night’s crowd trickled in. He always started off the night with the same strategy, look a little bored and above it all and then if no one chose him for a while, he’d go up to Patrons, draping himself around their shoulder and whispering sweet nothings into their ears until they told him to leave or paid to make him stay.

Tonight was going to be pretty slow, it was a Thursday after all, and even in this big-city location the prices were a little steep. But they were high end whores, not streetwalking wretches or in the cheap brothels in the bad part of town. No, this was a fairly respectable establishment, and everything going on was technically legal.

Thenardier was watching the rest of the escorts enter the room and settle down, his version of taking a roll call. When everyone had filed in, Thenardier nodded and opened the doors for the public to come in.

Joly was one of the first to arrive, without Bossuet today, and he chatted with Grantaire for a bit-they’ve developed a pretty good friendship over the past two and a half years-then wandered over to Musichetta. Musichetta said something probably hilarious, as she’s one of the funniest people Grantaire’s ever had the pleasure to meet, but he couldn’t hear it as she whispered to the giggling Joly and dragged him away to her room.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, the reason the Joly and Bossuet were both so broke was because they wasted all their money buying Musichetta for the night at least three times a week. They never just paid by the hour, always a full night. It was a waste of money if they ever had any hope to buy her contract and get her out of there, but they couldn’t stay away.

Eponine was working the room, walking around in a tight red dress and black heels, all of which perfectly accentuated her Latin curves. How such an obviously Hispanic girl got such a French name, Grantaire hadn’t a clue, but it was probably some Thenardier scheme to make them sound more high class. Marius, her favorite customer, wouldn’t be in today. He only came in on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays, so she had to find someone for the night, luckily it wouldn’t be hard, she’d been here long enough that she knew how to get men (and women) to choose her over everyone else.

Combeferre came in, about an hour into the night. Grantaire had been talking to some wealthy businessman who was in town for the night, so he merely waved at the doctor, before turning back to his conversation. Combeferre raised an eyebrow and waved back a little, before heading over to Courfeyrac.

Combeferre was one of the regulars. He usually went with Grantaire, if Grantaire wasn’t with anyone for the night, and they’d become pretty good friends. He knew Courfeyrac from before Courfeyrac was a prostitute, but Grantaire was unsure of the particulars of that relationship, he figured it was complicated and none of his business. He’d break down and ask Jehan someday.

The businessman paid for an hour, which Grantaire happily obliged, before washing himself off and returning to The Showroom, as the front parlor was called, and sitting back on his couch. The night was still young and Grantaire still had time to work.

Some creepy old man was talking to Jehan, but Jehan had been at this long enough that he just played up the boyish demeanor, playing into the old man’s fantasies. It creeped Grantaire out on a whole other level to see Jehan like that, so he wandered over to the bar and batted his eyes, asking if one of the lonely guys there would buy him a drink.

When he’d finished his drink and turned around to glance at the room he saw that Eponine was back, but Jehan was gone, presumably with the man he’d been talking to earlier. The man who bought Grantaire his drink was obviously into him and Grantaire was considering making fork over some money for the night soon so he could maybe get another person into bed. Thenardier gave them little allowances for serving lots of patrons, and Grantaire needed money for paint and wine.

He noticed Bahorel walk through the door, and he excused himself for a moment. Bahorel was one of his regulars and he didn’t want to leave his friend without an explanation.

“‘Horel!” Grantaire said happily, kissing the man’s cheek, “My favorite patron. Light of my life. My one and only.”

“You have another customer, don’t you?” Bahorel asked, grinning back. He was used to Grantaire’s antics.

“Yes, but he’s old so he won’t last long. Give me half an hour, tops, and I’ll be right back down.” Grantaire promised with a wink.

“That’s fine,” Bahorel said, “I’ll just bother Eponine. Do you know where Jehan is? Feuilly is going to be here to see him tonight.”

“Yeah, he just went upstairs with some creepy old man. I’m talking ancient, love. He’ll be down soon enough.” Grantaire said, kissing Bahorel’s cheek again, “I’ve got to run.”

“You go do what you need to do.” Bahorel said, wandering off towards Eponine.

“What was that about?” The businessman asked when Grantaire returned.

“Oh, just an old friend.” Grantaire lied dismissively, “He’s always been into that girl over there.” He pointed to where Bahorel and Eponine were talking, “I can never seem to get him to really notice me.”

“But you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” The man said, obviously drunk by now.

“Maybe you can take my mind off of him?” Grantaire asked, schooling his face into a hopeful and yet seductive expression.

“Of course.” The man said, “Anything.”

Thenardier would be so happy when he found out Grantaire charged this businessman for an entire night when it really only took about ten minutes, plus another five for Grantaire to shower again. Gueulemer was there tonight to help carry sleeping patrons to the separate room where they let patrons sleep in little beds (for an extra fee at the end, of course) and Azelma (too young to start really working here) was heading in to change the sheets. Grantaire went back downstairs to meet with Bahorel.

Courfeyrac was seeing off Combeferre for the night when he got downstairs, the two of them joking and laughing about something or other, and Feuilly was listening to Jehan read him some poetry he wrote, while Eponine was still talking to Bahorel, probably about fighting from the gestures they were making.

Grantaire smiled a bit as he walked into The Showroom. ‘Well,’ He thought as he walked up to his friends, ‘Things could be worse. At least I have a family here.’

…

Montparnasse was furious. Enjolras, his boyfriend, had been to another one of those god damned protests against the mistreatment of escorts in brothels. He was getting too much notoriety, it was going to get Montparnasse in trouble with Thenardier and with his other contacts.

This had gone on too long. Sure, Enjolras was beautiful, but he was not worth all of this trouble. But if Montparnasse tried to break up with Enjolras it would only serve to humiliate him further, as Enjolras would undoubtedly talk about him at protests and in the media afterwards.

He couldn’t kill Enjolras (“Not all of our problems have to end with murder, Claquesous, get some creativity, man.”) and there was no way to just make him leave (the man was too proud to accept bribes). So there was only one real solution.

“Where have you been?” Montparnasse asked when Enjolras got home late one night.

“A protest.” Enjolras said, looking slightly nervous under his cool facade.

“Oh, that’s interesting, angel. What kind of protest? Transgender rights? Police brutality?” Montparnasse asked, flicking out his pocket knife and picking at his nails with it.

“It was a protest about prostitute’s rights.” Enjolras said, holding his chin up high and trying not to show any fear at the knife.

Montparnasse sighed, “Of course.” He stood up and leaned over Enjolras, “Why must you undermine everything I’m trying to do? Why are you putting my reputation, my job in jeopardy?”

“Montparnasse, people’s lives are in jeopardy! You work for a corrupt man who doesn’t care about any of his workers! He probably tricked half of them into signing their contracts!” Enjolras’s expression went from cool to highly annoyed, “How can you be so inconsiderate to a cause you work so closely to? Surely you can see it’s wrong!” Enjolras raised his voice, not a smart move on his behalf.

“He might be wrong, but he’s the one putting food on the table, you idiot!” Montparnasse yelled back, grabbing Enjolras’s shoulders and shaking them, “Don’t you get it? Thenardier is a dangerous man! We don’t piss off dangerous people!”

“I don’t give a shit about pissing him off, if he wants me, he can come after me like a real man!” Enjolras growled at Montparnasse, “So get your hands off of me!”

“This is him coming after you.” Montparnasse said, gripping Enjolras’s shoulders tighter as Babet came up from behind and covered Enjolras’s mouth with a damp cloth.

The last thing Enjolras saw as the world faded to black was Montparnasse’s face looking extremely disappointed.

…

Enjolras stirred as he felt his feet dragging on the ground, both his arms gripped painfully tight. When he opened his eyes he was face to face with a grinning Thenardier. Enjolras jolted, looking around him and trying to squirm out of Claquesous and Gueulemer’s arms, but the two together were much stronger than him.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.” Thenardier took Enjolras’s chin in his hand, inspecting him. “If it isn’t the little blond that plays revolutionary and makes me lose business.” he chuckled. “It’s just really too bad you and Montparnasse couldn’t see more eye to eye. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead working for you...” Enjolras glared up at Thenardier.

“That’s a shame,” Thenardier said, holding up a piece of paper, “seeing as you are, in fact, working for me. You belong to me.”

He brought the contract down to eye level for Enjolras so he could see a fairly convincing replication of his signature on it. The terms laid out a lifelong servitude in Thenardier’s brothel, unless sold to someone else.

“What-” Enjolras’s eyes widened as he read it. He couldn’t do anything about it- not when he was a political fugitive as it was. “You’re lying, not even Montparnasse would do that.” Enjolras looked away, stubbornly not accepting it.

“That’s exactly what Montparnasse did. With the help of Babet’s caligraphy skills, of course.” Thenardier said, smiling at the Patron-Minette member. “I’ll give you one day to get used to your surroundings, but tomorrow night you start work.” the man whistled loudly, prompting a young girl to enter the room, “Azelma, show Enjolras and his escorts to his room. And maybe you can get Gavroche to give him a tour later.”

“Of course, Papa.” Azelma said, holding the door open for Claquesous and Gueulemer to drag Enjolras through. She led them to a fairly nice room with a dresser, large double bed, and a nightstand as the only contents. There was another door, for a small bathroom. Claquesous and Gueulemer set Enjolras down on the bed and left, leaving Azelma alone with him.

“It’s not so bad here.” She said quietly, “You’ll get used to it. I’ll have Gavroche come in in an hour or so to give you the tour, but for now you should rest.” She left, closing the door behind her and locking it.

…

The following afternoon Enjolras was lead down the stairs by Gueulemer, still resisting the idea of working for or obeying any of Thenardier’s orders. All the other escorts were already there, all looking confused to see the new face. Enjolras gave off anything but a friendly aura, his face in a state between looking like he was ready to kill someone, and like he would probably kill whoever approached him first.

Grantaire, against all better judgement, decided to walk up the the beautiful new addition to their little group.

“Hey Gueulemer.” Grantaire said. Of all the Patron-Minette members, he was the least terrible. Not a great conversationalist, but not cruel like the others. “Who have you got there?”

“I can talk for myself you know,” Enjolras said, yanking his arm away from Gueulemer, “I’m Enjolras.” he said, crossing his arms. He already felt uncomfortable here, but tried his best not to show it.

“I’m supposed to watch Enjolras to make sure he doesn’t run.” Gueulemer said in his slow, low voice.

“Ah, just like old times.” Grantaire said to Gueulemer with a grin before turning to Enjolras who was emitting an aura of hostility more than ever, “I’m Grantaire, known by night as the great and fabulous R.” He held out his hand for Enjolras to shake.

Enjolras refused it, glaring at him. “I don’t understand how you can be so casual when you’re being held here to have sex with anyone that asks all because of some contract.”

Grantaire looked a little surprised at the comment, but it did not dissuade him. It intrigued him… Who was this guy?

“Enjolras?” Combeferre’s voice floated down the staircase behind them. Beside him was Courfeyrac, and they both rushed down to see him.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Combeferre questioned, walking up to him, Courfeyrac beside him.

“Yeah, what on earth brings you to a place like this? I thought you had a boyfriend.” Courfeyrac added.

At the mere mention Enjolras tensed up, Combeferre catching on, “Oh.” he gave Courfeyrac the ‘let me handle this’ look, sending the man to talk with Musichetta and Eponine instead, who were both curious to know who Enjolras was, and how he knew him.

“Here, Grantaire. I’m paying for three hours,” Combeferre dug around in his pocket for his wallet, producing it and giving Grantaire the cash. He turned to Enjolras, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Grantaire shrugged and took the money, walking off to give it to Thenardier. Gueulemer followed him, as he wasn't supposed to actually stalk Enjolras when he was with customers.

Enjolras led Combeferre through the halls, turning into his new room, and shutting the door.

"So, I'm guessing you're not here because you want to be." Combeferre commented, sitting on his bed and crossing his legs under him, looking kind of like a giant kindergartner in a dress shirt and khakis. It would have been funny in any other situation.

"What gave that away?" Enjolras asked sarcastically. "Fuck this. Fuck everything." He walked around, pulling at his hair a bit before turning on Combeferre, "why are you here?"

Combeferre shrugged a little, "I was originally here for Courf. You know we used to have that thing before college, so this isn't really awkward for us. But then I kind of started visiting Grantaire too. And it's not like I don't have the money."

"But this is so wrong! Half of these people are here against their will, and I don't even know why Courf is here." Enjolras put his face in his hands, trying to block out what his life had become.

"His family fell on hard times. He has a four year contract, it's up next year. It was that or live on the streets, and he was too proud to ask us for help. Besides, he thought it'd be fun. He just chose poorly for his place of employment." Combeferre explained, "He wants to leave, but there's really nothing he can do. The contract's binding."

"Why don't you just buy his contract?" Enjolras asked, in a "well duh" tone.

"Don't you think I offered to? He won't leave without Jehan. And Jehan won't leave without Grantaire. And Grantaire won't leave without Eponine, and Eponine won't leave without her siblings. And Azelma won't leave without Musichetta. I can't buy the entire whore house, Enjolras." Combeferre sighed, "And you're not for sale. You have to stay with a contract holder for six months before you can leave."

Enjolras seemed to deflate a little. "But I didn't sign a contract, I got on Montparnasse's bad side and they forged my signature. This isn't legal." Enjolras's lips started to shake, his eyes growing wet. The gravity of the situation was sinking in, beyond outrage and he was scared.

"Hey, come here." Combeferre said, patting the bed, "We can just sit, I've bought most of the night."

Enjolras walked over and sat on the bed, before giving in to his emotions for once and wrapping his arms around Combeferre's waist and burying his face in his oldest friend's stomach, letting the tears fall.

"I don't know what to do." Enjolras said, his voice muffled, "I wasn't ready for this."

"It's okay," Combeferre said, petting his hair, "it's okay."

...

Enjolras didn't get any more customers that night. He glared at everyone who came close. Grantaire almost went to talk to him, but Combeferre told him to leave him alone for the night before he left the establishment.

Things continued like that for the rest of the week. Combeferre might stop by, but he mostly stayed with Grantaire or Courfeyrac for a few hours, only talking to Enjolras in the lobby. He didn’t want to make things awkward, Enjolras had never really been into the “friends with benefits” thing like Courfeyrac was.

Grantaire was starting to admire Enjolras from afar, and was highly amused at the sour lemon face he got whenever a prospective patron came close. Grantaire’s business was going up, as bi men got rejected by Enjolras and came to him for “comfort”, and Thenardier going to be giving him a lot more pocket money this week.

Five days into Enjolras’s stay at the brothel, Montparnasse walked through the front doors into The Showroom. He usually wasn’t around during the night, opting to go out and do whatever barely legal things he got up to in the cover of darkness, but this night he walked straight up to Enjolras and grabbed his wrist, dragging him over to Eponine and telling her (she had been left in charge that night while Thenardier tended bar) that he was using his “free whore token” on Enjolras this time.

“I’ll try not to let it get to me too much.” Eponine said with a wry smile, trying to play up he flirtatiousness. Montparnasse usually chose to come to her, and she was slightly worried for this new guy, especially if he had a history with Montparnasse pre-brothel.

But there was really nothing she could do, so she let Montparnasse lead Enjolras away to his bedroom.

Montparnasse shut the door behind them and shoved Enjolras towards his bed. He was one of the few people in the entire brothel with a key that worked to lock a room from the inside, so he actually locked the door for once.

“Parnasse…” Enjolras started to say, but Montparnasse just crossed the room and slapped him across the face.

“Shut up.” He snarled, picking up Enjolras by the front of his shirt (a thin, red, mesh thing that was in his dresser) and all but shoving his tongue into Enjolras’s mouth. Enjolras tried to push against him, but despite his strength, Montparnasse was stronger. The brunette man bit down on Enjolras’s lip too hard, causing Enjolras to let out an embarrassing squeak.

Montparnasse forcefully let Enjolras go, dropping him to the bed once more.

“Take that off.” He said, tugging on the sleeve of Enjolras’s shirt. “Give me a show, like you used to.”

Enjolras had to bite his tongue, remembering something Combeferre once told him about picking his battles wisely. He wanted to tell Montparnasse couldn’t have that anymore, he all but sold him into slavery, for god’s sake. He didn’t move though, so Montparnasse shoved him off the bed and he fell to the ground with a painful thud.

“Take the shirt off, whore!” Montparnasse jeered, standing over him.

Enjolras didn’t want to be scared. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to face this like he faced protests. But his body wasn’t listening to him, it was shaking, and there wasn’t enough clothing on him to conceal the trembling.

He slowly stood, and then reached for the hem of his shirt. It was so tight that he couldn’t take it off the normal way he’d been taking off t-shirts his whole life, he had to cross his arms and raise the shirt over his head, something that made him feel very vulnerable.

Montparnasse grabbed his face again, pulling him into a bruising kiss. His lips hurt. He couldn’t believe that he used to enjoy this.

Montparnasse pushed him towards the bed again. When the backs of Enjolras’s knees hit the bed they buckled, causing him to fall backwards with Montparnasse on top of him. Montparnasse held himself over Enjolras, looking down at the scared expression playing across his former lover’s features.

He reached down and started unbuttoning Enjolras’s tight, shiny black pants.

“Wait,” Enjolras said, trying to stop Montparnasse’s hands. “Stop.”

Montparnasse grabbed Enjolras’s wrists and leaned down, close to his face, looking into his eyes angrily. “I paid for you. I get to do whatever I want with you now.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but Montparnasse stopped him, kissing him again. Enjolras almost gagged on his tongue. He hated kissing like this, he hated how when Montparnasse drew back he felt like there was drool all over his face.

Montparnasse brought his attention back to Enjolras’s pants, unzipping them and pulling them down with Enjolras’s underwear.

“Aw, not having fun?” Montparnasse teased, poking Enjolras’s flaccid dick. “It’s not like it even really matters.”

Enjolras swallowed hard, swallowing any witty retort he might have in fear of some kind of retribution at the hands of this man, who he thought he might love. Montparnasse unzipped his own pants, taking himself out, but he didn’t pull them down too far, and he didn’t take off his shirt. Enjolras wondered if he knew how vulnerable it made him feel to be the only one naked.

Montparnasse pulled some lube out of the nightstand drawer, the contents of which Enjolras had inspected earlier in the week with distaste, but was now grateful for. He neglected to grab a condom, however, and Enjolras shuddered to think about it.

“Don’t want you getting hurt, can’t damage the merchandise.” Montparnasse said, squirting the lube out onto his fingers and flipping Enjolras over with his other hand. Enjolras had stopped fighting and was trying hard to control his breathing, not have a panic attack or something.

Montparnasse slipped one finger, then the other inside Enjolras, and if Enjolras closed his eyes and tried to tune everything out hard enough, it was just like normal. It was any night he and Montparnasse decided that they were just so pissed at each other and had angry sex.

But the unfamiliar smell of the detergent in the bedding and Montparnasse hissing “Ready, whore?” in his ear broke him out of that spell.

Enjolras bit back a cry of pain when Montparnasse thrust in. He had never been that rough before. Enjolras grabbed the sheets in his fists and buried his face in the comforter.

The sharp pain gave way to a duller ache as Montparnasse continued. Enjolras was trying to keep himself under control, but a few tears slipped out of his eyes, and a sob escaped his lips on a particularly violent thrust. His prayers that Montparnasse hadn’t heard the noise were in vain, as the other man yanked his head back by the hair and leaned at an awkward angle to look at his face, still inside him.

“Are you crying?” Montparnasse asked scathingly, starting to laugh, “Whores don’t cry. You’ve got to toughen up, bitch.”

“Stop.” Enjolras said, as Montparnasse let his head fall back to the bed and started thrusting again, “Please just stop.”

Montparnasse didn’t respond, continuing until he climaxed. He pulled out and zipped up his pants once more, leaving Enjolras naked on the bed.

“I’m supposed to have you the whole night.” Montparnasse said, “But I can’t stand the sight of you and I’m going to be at the bar, so you’ll stay here if you know what’s good for you.” He headed for the door, unlocking it. “And get off the sheets before you stain them, Azelma shouldn’t have to deal with that tomorrow morning.”

With that, Montparnasse was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Enjolras’s body was still shaking as he tried to get out off the bed, but his legs didn’t cooperate, causing him to fall back down to the ground. He didn’t move from there for quite a while, his blond locks hanging in front of his face so that he didn’t need to look at where he was. He couldn’t believe… that they had ever had something. He couldn’t stop crying either. He felt pathetic and worthless… and he was, wasn’t he?

Enjolras didn’t move from his spot on the floor for a solid hour at the least. It wasn’t until he heard a knock at the door and a familiar voice that came with it, that he jerked up.

“Enjolras, are you still in there?” Courfeyrac asked through the door, “Can I come in?”

Enjolras swallowed, at first completely silent, trying to build up the strength to sound normal as he pulled himself off the ground, “Don’t.” He said it loudly and demanding, not wanting to be seen like this. His legs, however still trembled, preventing him from reaching the door to stop it from opening in time.

Courfeyrac had a small bottle of alcohol in his hands, but upon seeing Enjolras there set it hastily upon the dresser, coming in, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Courfeyrac rushed to his side, noticing Enjolras looked like he would fall again. He helped the pale blond over to the bed. “Enjy?” He brushed the silent man’s bangs aside, looking at his reddened, tear streaked face.

“Montparnasse…” he didn’t want to speak, but figured Courfeyrac deserved an explanation, he looked so worried.

Courfeyrac hugged his friend tightly, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you ever ended up here… This place… it’s not meant for men like you.” He felt his shoulder becoming wet as Enjolras let his head rest against it. “I’m sorry…”

…

It was the next day that Enjolras was called into Thenardier’s office, and found himself sitting before the man, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. We give you food to eat, a nice bed, and a roof over your head, and how do you repay us? By scaring off customers, rather than being a part of the team, and making this establishment thrive. I’m very, very disappointed in you.”

Enjolras was still shaken from last night, unable to find his usually confident voice. Instead, he held his arm, looking at the ground, “Please… I can’t do this sort of thing…”

Thenardier let out an impressively loud fake laugh, before slamming both fists onto the table, “Can’t do it, eh? Too bad, you have to! I swear to God if you don’t shape up very soon that little incident with Montparnasse last night will look like a romantic walk in the park.” He glared down at Enjolras, a sinister smirk on his face. “So, you’re a whore now. Act like it.” He growled.

Since Enjolras had been in such bad shape the night before, Courfeyrac decided he’d pay him another visit. He’d never seen his old friend so terrified as last night. Usually he faced everything with confidence and a serious face. When he walked into Enjolras’s room, he wore the same serious face he used to, as if think very hard.

“Hey Enjy,” he said, setting a sandwich down beside him, offering it to Enjolras, as he hadn’t actually seen him eat anything since the previous morning.

“Hey Courf, I need to ask a favor.” Enjolras said, taking half of the sandwich and staring down at it.

“Sure, Enj. What’s up?” Courfeyrac asked, taking the other half of the sandwich and biting into it.

“Uhm. Thenardier had a talk with me and he said that I… I have to learn how to be a better whore.” Enjolras confessed.

There was a moment where Courfeyrac almost choked on his sandwich. But he thought Enjolras’s feelings would be hurt if he died right there, so he reigned himself in and swallowed.

“Uh, sure.” Courfeyrac set the sandwich down so that he wouldn’t take another bite until the conversation was over. “Well, for starters, you don’t exactly have to go around begging people to have sex with you. You just have to stop looking like you want these people to fall through the floor and straight into the pits of hell every time they come up to talk to you.”

“But I do want that.” Enjolras said, not amused. “Fine… but is that all I need to do? Just not glare at them?”

“Well, when they come up to you, you should try to seem, like, sort of interested in what they’re saying. Not asking you to shoot for the moon or whatever, just be polite enough and then when they pay for the night you can just sort of let them do their thing.” Courfeyrac said, trying not give overly in depth instructions. It’s not that he didn’t think Enjolras was smart enough to understand them, he just didn’t think Enjolras could handle hearing about sex in detail from him right now.

“...Okay… I’ll try that.” he nodded a little bit, going back to his deeper thoughts.

“Eat your food.” Courfeyrac said, picking his sandwich back up again now that he was in no danger. “Gotta keep your strength up.”

“Do we have days off?” Enjolras asked, before actually taking a bite of his sandwich.

“We have Tuesdays off, and a week after Christmas we usually get an extra day off for a mini celebration. And Thenardier gives us our birthdays off.” Courfeyrac said, “But otherwise we have to be contagiously sick to get off, and then we have to be in quarantine.”

…

Enjolras tried to take the advice to heart over the next week, but he was really no good at it at all. However, one day Enjolras actually got someone to pay him for a night. It was painfully awkward but, Enjolras was getting the hang of it.

Grantaire found in himself the competitive streak that he never seemed to be able to find when he was being picked last for sports in high school. He was angry at Enjolras for no reason, he couldn’t even justify it to himself. It just seemed like Enjolras was ruining the setup he had. Shaking things up too much. Plus he was upsetting Combeferre, Grantaire could tell.

So Grantaire did something stupid, and decided to sabotage Enjolras’s attempts (however adorable) to pick anyone up.

Someone would approach Enjolras, to talk to him, and then Grantaire would swoop in and charm them, and they’d go back to his room instead. Enjolras didn’t even really seem to notice that he was doing it, didn’t see Grantaire as a threat. And that made Grantaire more upset, more competitive, and made him take even more business away from Enjolras.

It also served to raise Thenardier’s expectations of Enjolras. Expectations that Enjolras couldn’t meet.

Grantaire realized that he fucked up bad about a week later when Thenardier called Enjolras out of The Showroom when the last patrons were leaving (he never did that during “working hours”, all punishment could wait until the morning usually).

Grantaire was so worried. He went to his room, they weren’t allowed to be in The Showroom during sleeping hours, and he waited to hear Enjolras walking back to his room so he could apologize.

Enjolras followed Thenardier into his office, feeling vaguely like he used to when he was sent to the principal’s office as a kid, except a thousand time more intense. Thenardier sat in his chair and gestured for Enjolras to sit in the one across the desk.

“I told you that you had to do better, and yet you’ve only brought in five people since you were brought on, and that’s including Montparnasse. You’ve disappointed me.” Thenardier said, looking down at his nails as if he were disinterested in the conversation.

“It’s not like I’m trying to not get customers. It’s not that easy.” Enjolras argued, with a small fraction of his passion he’d regained. “I don’t see you ever attracting any customers yourself, you wouldn’t know.”

Enjolras immediately regretted what he said when Thenardier’s gaze lifted from his nails to Enjolras’s face. He looked more serious than Enjolras had ever seen, as the man was generally taking things lightly and smiling through his threats. Now he looked every bit the dangerous man they always said he was.

“Oh, Enjolras, I do attract the customers.” He said, getting up from his chair and walking to stand in front of Enjolras. “Who do you think buys the alcohol to serve the people who come here for the bar, but stay for your company? Who employed some of the best whores in the entire city? Who makes this place so high class, with no fear of diseases? I do. I do bring in the customers while you just sit around.”

Enjolras was getting slightly afraid as Thenardier bent in closer, his face right in front of Enjolras’s.

“If you want to just sit around, I’ll give you a reason to sit around for a whole week.” Thenardier said. He stood upright again, looming over Enjolras.

“You can’t hurt me, you always sent out Patron-Minette to do your dirty work.” Enjolras retorted, gaining a little more confidence in himself.

So fast that Enjolras’s could barely comprehend what was happening, Thenardier grabbed his shirt front and lifted him, kicking his chair back with one foot.

“I can’t hurt you, eh?” Thenardier asked, pulling back his arm and punching Enjolras right in the eye. Pain shot through the blond’s head, causing him to cry out. His eyes were watering and his nose was running like it was bleeding.

He’d underestimated M. Thenardier and now he was going to pay the price.

…

As Enjolras pried himself off the floor an hour later, Thenardier wiping off his bloody knuckles, and started to leave the room the man called out to him.

“I was serious about you not working for the week. But that means that you don’t get to eat at my table. The food is there for the whores who work.” Thenardier said, “You should be grateful I’m giving you a room to sleep in and not chaining you in the yard like the dogs.”

Grantaire heard someone walking up the stairs and snuck out into the hall. After confirming that it wasn’t Thenardier (he had a very distinctive walk) Grantaire looked around the corner to see who it was.

It was Enjolras, struggling to get up the stairs. He looked injured and Grantaire rushed over to help him. Enjolras tired to say something as Grantaire grabbed his waist, helping him to stand more upright, but Grantaire shushed him, jerking his head in the direction of the office downstairs. Wouldn’t want Thenardier to hear them and come to investigate.

When they got to the top of the stairs Grantaire whispered “My room or yours?” to which Enjolras replied “Yours.”

When they got to Grantaire’s room he set the blond on the bed and sat next to him.

“What happened?” Grantaire asked, pulling his sleeve over his hand and wiping blood from a cut underneath Enjolras’s swelling eye.

“Thenardier was upset with me…” he said quietly, looking at the ground. “I haven’t been bringing in enough people.” he sighed a little. “I don’t even know how to do any of this… I was fighting against this.”

“You were fighting against this?” Grantaire asked, “Wait, hold that thought.” He went to his tiny bathroom and dug a little first aid kit out from under the sink, bringing it out. “Alright, how were you fighting against this? Did you know you were going to be a whore?” Grantaire asked again as he took out an alcohol wipe to clean up the little cuts on Enjolras’s face.

“I was an activist…” he said, “I wasn’t supposed to be a prostitute… I wanted these contracts to end, to end for everybody.” he sighed.

“Yeah, I wish.” Grantaire said as he wiped at a cut, causing Enjolras to hiss in pain. “Sorry. It’ll never happen though. The government is getting too much money from the taxes and cops get free visits whenever. The authorities have it too good to give it up now.”

“It’s Montparnasse’s fault I’m here.” he said, running a hand through his hair. “And I’ll never be able to get the hang of this…”

“How did you even run into Montparnasse? You seem like you know, a good person and he gives off this supervillain henchman vibe.” Grantaire took out some bandages to put on Enjolras’s now disinfected cuts.

“...We had been dating.” he closed his eyes, looking upset, just thinking about it.

“Oh.” Grantaire said, looking a little surprised, “Well, at least you can blame someone. I don’t have anyone to blame for my predicament but myself.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras looked at him. His blue eyes were beautiful and glassy.

“I was here visiting Eponine, we’ve been friends since we were kids. Thenardier got me drunk, I don’t even remember signing the contract, but I don’t doubt that he actually got me to sign mine, no need for Babet to forge anything this time.” Grantaire sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras sighed. “I don’t have it that bad…”

“No, no!” Grantaire backtracked, “I wasn’t trying to say that, I was just… I’m trying to let you vent, man. Tell me why stuff sucks and I’ll tell you why stuff sucks and then we’ll feel better about life. You totally have it shitty man, no doubt.” Grantaire smoothed his finger over his last bandage.

Enjolras looked a little confused, “I guess yeah,” He looked like he felt a little better. “I dunno. I just thought I could trust Montparnasse. I know he’s not the best character, but we had something at some point… I guess it just faded quick.”

“It’s okay, it wasn’t you. You know, that’s almost exactly what happened to Jehan. He was going out with Babet for a while.” Grantaire said, “I can’t even tell you how that happened. Jehan is such a cute little delicate flower. He’s a poet, you know. And he’s probably having sex with your friend Courfeyrac right now.”

“What? They’re together?” Enjolras pondered for a moment, “Huh. Hey, Grantaire?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked, packing the first aid kit back up.

“How can I do better?” he wrapped his arms around his aching chest.

“Well, that’ll take some time. Lord knows I was no good at the start. And Jehan? He started like half a year before me and he didn’t really get the hang of things until a month after I was, uh, ‘recruited’.” Grantaire admitted with a laugh, “But I can give you a few pointers.”

“That would help.” Enjolras said.

“Well, I noticed that you stopped looking so pissed all the time, that’s a good start. But you have to have a thing.” Grantaire said.

“A thing?” Enjolras asked, “Very specific.”

“Uh well… examples. Jehan sort of caters to the creepy old guys who come in with this whole little boy act he can put on, and if there are none of those around he can become the hopeless romantic, spouting out these epic love poems off the top of his head. And Courfeyrac can get anyone laughing and he’s just fun. I’m supposed to be the super sexy one, but I think you’ve got me beat there now.” Grantaire rambled.

“But I can’t just go up to them like you can.” Enjolras said, putting his face in his hands, “I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“That’s probably true for now. You have to learn how to get your foot out of your mouth before you can actually start going up to patrons, otherwise some of them will think you’re being too in their face. For now I’d just say you should just sit there and look pretty. And when someone comes up to you try the innocent act.” Grantaire suggested, “I wish we could get different colored clothes, then you could wear like light blue and look like an angel.”

“... But I like red.” He pouted a little. “Wait, what do you mean we can’t get different colored clothes?”

“Thenardier, in all his wisdom, decided that we’re supposed to all have the same color we wear every day.” Grantaire said, “Didn’t you notice?”

“I didn’t think much of it…” he said, thinking back on it. “Thank you, Grantaire.” Enjolras said.

…

The next day Eponine was called into her father’s office. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, as he held family meetings there every once in awhile. But Eponine was surprised to see a blonde girl around her age there with Babet.

“Ah, Eponine.” Thenardier said, coaxing her into the room and putting his hand on her shoulder. “This is Cosette. Cosette, this is my daughter Eponine. She’ll be showing you around today.”

Cosette. The name sounded familiar, but Eponine couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“I’ve just bought her contract, but she’s been in the business for a while so she knows what to do. She’ll be working tonight.” Thenardier continued, waving his hand dismissively “You can go.”

Eponine gave her a pretty standard tour, just showing where the bedrooms, the kitchen, the common area, and The Showroom were. Cosette was pretty quiet, but Eponine didn’t really mind, she wasn’t in a very talkative mood today.

They ended the tour in Cosette’s room. The girls’ rooms were much like the guys’ rooms with one addition, a small vanity and stool. The vanity was always well stocked with makeup (it seemed Azelma had already set up some of the things Cosette had brought.

“And this is your room.” Eponine said, “Um, I guess I’ll leave and give you some time to adjust.” Azelma was much better at this than she was.

“Actually,” Cosette said, turning and looking up at Eponine with her big blue eyes, “can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Uh, what is it?” Eponine asked, wondering what this new girl could possibly want from her.

“Can you brush my hair? It’s so relaxing, but only when someone else does it. I’m sorry I’m asking, I just used to have this friend who would do it for me and then my contract got sold.” Cosette said looking embarrassed.

“Um, sure.” Eponine said before she could refuse or tell her that Musichetta was the person to ask for that. Cosette sat down on the little vanity chair and handed Eponine the hairbrush. The brunette stood behind her awkwardly, running the brush through Cosette’s long golden hair.

“So, you’re Thenardier’s daughter?” Cosette asked, looking at Eponine in the mirror, “I wouldn’t think he’d have you work in the brothel.”

“It’s not so bad.” Eponine said, shrugging as she focused on brushing, “I mean, Thenardier said that you’re experienced so you must know. There are worse things.”

“I suppose.” Cosette said.

There was a brief silence and Eponine felt it weigh too heavily for her to deal with.

“So,” She said, trying to conjure up some form of small talk, “How’d you end up here?”

‘Great Eponine,’ She thought to herself, cringing internally, ‘Ask her what she’s in for. Just like prison.’

“I was actually born in a brothel. Thenardier’s first brothel.” Cosette admitted, “Do you by any chance know a Fantine? Your father said he’d sold her to someone else, but…”

“Fantine…” Eponine said thoughtfully. Then it came back to her, how she knew Cosette.

Cosette had lived with them in the shitty brothel-slash-inn her father used to own when she was just a toddler. Fantine, the nicest of the prostitutes who always doted on her, had Cosette. They had grown up together until Cosette was about three and Eponine six, when Fantine died and Thenardier sold Cosette to some guy who wanted her.

“Oh wait, you’re Cosette? And he told you he sold your mother?” Eponine decided to tell her the truth, but as gently as she could muster. She summoned all her inner Musichetta. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. She died. She died before Thenardier sold you. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh.” Cosette said, sounding disappointed, “Thank you for being honest. I always sort of suspected, but I never really knew.”

“You’re not going to, like, cry… are you?” Eponine asked, looking Cosette in the eyes in the mirror.

“No, you’re safe. No tears.” Cosette said with a laugh. “I just hoped that she might be out there, somewhere.”

“But wait, how did you end up as an escort? I thought that one guy, you know. The one with the weird repeating name. I thought he took you to raise you.” Eponine said, confused.

“Jean Valjean?” Cosette guessed smiling a bit, “He was my father for a couple years, when I was a girl. But then when I was about thirteen he got arrested by the police for some reason or another, they never did tell me. And so I went back.”

“That sucks.” Eponine said, getting a little bored with brushing Cosette’s hair and setting the brush down so she could braid it instead.

“It’s not so bad, like you said.” Cosette said as Eponine began to twist her hair into an intricate braid, threading a white ribbon through it. “I do miss him though.” she admitted.

Eponine nodded a little, “It’ll be time to open up soon, if you don’t want to work tonight I can try to convince my father to let you have tonight off.”

Cosette smiled, “Thank you, but that’s alright. I’m fine.” she said, looking at her hair in the mirror. “Thank you again, Eponine.” she said with a small smile.

Soon it was time to go to The Showroom, and Cosette walked downstairs, beside Eponine. She wore a powder blue dress, loose fitting and short, but incredibly feminine, while Eponine wore a tight fitting red top, with a short black skirt. They looked something like polar opposites as they came down the grand staircase.

A few customers were already mulling about, talking with some of the whores, and for the first time since he’d arrived, Enjolras actually looked like things were working out for him, as he painfully tried to keep up the cute facade with a buff, short haired man. Marius was already downstairs, and he usually saw Eponine, but when he looked up to see the girls walking down the stairs his eyes focused on Cosette, and her’s on his.

Eponine smiled at Marius, but he didn’t seem to notice for once. When the girls reached the bottom of the stairs Marius approached them immediately.

“Ponine, who is this?” He asked, his eyes still on the blonde.

“This is Cosette, we were children together.” Eponine said, keeping her smile in place even though she really wanted to take Marius’s shoulders and shake him, demanding that he look at her.

“Cosette.” Marius said. He looked at Eponine now, with eyes begging for something, some kind of permission. Eponine nodded, just barely. She was a whore, how could she refute his right to spend the night with whoever he wished?

“Are you Marius? Eponine has told me about you.” Cosette said with a giggle, also looking to Eponine for permission. Eponine rolled her eyes. Cosette should know by now that anyone was up for grabs.

“Has she?” Marius asked with a laugh, “There’s not a lot to talk about.”

Eponine wound her arms around Marius and kissed his neck, “Take her upstairs all night,” She whispered to him, “I know you’ll be nice and it’s her first day.”

“Thanks Ponine.” He whispered back into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. Eponine drew back to say farewell, but Cosette pulled her into a hug as well.

“I’m sorry.” Cosette whispered.

“None of that, just go with him. I’ll find someone else, there’s plenty of people here.” Eponine said, and she drew back again, waving and walking away.

Eponine refused to watch Marius and Cosette walk up the stairs, so she walked over to Grantaire by the bar, reigning in her emotions, and ordering herself a drink.

“Wow,” Grantaire said, “I didn’t think you’d allow an upstart like Cosette to steal your man.” He looked around Eponine for a moment to give a big thumbs up to Enjolras, who was leading a man upstairs.

“We’re fucking whores, Grantaire. Get your head out of the clouds.” Eponine said bitterly, swallowing her drink down, fast. She got up, patted Grantaire on the shoulder in farewell, and went up to Montparnasse.

“Hey honey.” She said with only slight sarcasm, “You should take me upstairs and help me keep my mind off this godforsaken place.”

“I was going to wait for a certain pretty blond to come back down.” Montparnasse, the asshole, said, looking at the stairs.

Eponine took his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss, slipping him some tongue for all to see. When she moved away she put her lips right up against his ear and whispered, “That’s too bad.”

Montparnasse took her upstairs that night.

…

The Showroom closed at three am, and all of the escorts adjourned to their rooms. Cosette grabbed Eponine’s hand, however, and pulled her into her bedroom.

“Look, Cosette. I really just want to go to sleep.” Eponine said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Cosette looked a little disappointed, but leaned in and kissed Eponine’s cheek softly. “Thank you for tonight.”

“It’s not like I really-” Eponine started to protest, her hand covering the cheek Cosette had just kissed as if she was trying to keep the kiss there.

Cosette took her other hand and laced their fingers together, “No really, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” She let Eponine’s hand go and sat down in front of the vanity to take off her makeup, “You should go get some rest though, tomorrow will be another busy day.”

“Yeah… Goodnight Cosette.” Eponine said, feeling confused. She opened the door to leave.

“Sweet dreams!” Cosette replied cheerfully.

…

A month passed. Enjolras got better at getting people to sleep with him, something that made Grantaire half jealous and half proud of him. At least he still wasn’t actively flirting with them, playing up the innocence. That quelled Grantaire’s jealousy a bit.

Grantaire had form a huge crush on the blonde over the past month, which was not good since the prostitutes were not allowed to have relationships, period. Even with each other. Thenardier said it caused too many problems. (Thenardier, of course, had no idea about Courfeyrac and Jehan’s relationship, otherwise there would have been problems.)

Eponine was forming a small crush on Cosette, and they took to staying in Cosette’s room when they had free time, talking and holding hands. Cosette kissed her goodnight every night, shyly moving from kissing her cheeks to kissing her lips, something that always made Eponine sure she had a sugary taste in her mouth, despite the fact that she knew that that wasn’t a thing.

Since Eponine and Grantaire were spending so much time with their new blonde friends, they hadn’t had too much time to talk to each other. So one afternoon, a Tuesday, they were just sitting on the stairs to The Showroom, talking.

“I’m just so confused.” Eponine complained, putting her head on Grantaire’s shoulder and gesturing with her hands. “I still love Marius, but he’s been going with Cosette like four out of five times. But then I also want Cosette, and she’s been like kissing me and stuff, but she talks about Marius all the time so I don’t know if she’s just being affectionate or whatever.” She sighed, “And then Thenardier forbids all that nonsense, and I don’t know if he’d be harder on me because I’m his daughter or if he’d go easy on me or what, and I just… I want things to be easier.”

“At least they’re paying some attention to you.” Grantaire said dramatically, “Enjolras doesn’t even seem to consider me as an option. I’m just here, watching him from afar.”

“Why are we whores, Grantaire? Why can’t we like be ballet dancers or something? I don’t know. Bakers or something. Why do we have to work here?” Eponine rambled. She only ever got rambly around Grantaire.

“Ballet? Bakers? Can you dance… or bake?” Grantaire asked, laughing a little. Eponine laughed as well, elbowing Grantaire in the ribs.

“That’s not the point!” Eponine said. They giggled a little longer and then they calmed down into a comfortable silence.

“I’ve missed you.” Grantaire said, leaning his head on top of Eponine’s.

Eponine was about to respond, either to tell him to stop being so mushy or to say something equally embarrassing, when the front door opened dramatically.  

Marius walked in, holding sheets of paper in his hands. “Eponine!” He said, grinning at her and walking across the room. “Take me to your father. I’m buying Cosette’s contract.”

“But you can’t.” Eponine said slightly desperately, “It hasn’t been six months yet.”

“There was a loophole in her contract,” Marius said, “And I can afford the price he’ll ask.”

“Oh… alright. Uhm. Azelma will take you to him.” Eponine said, catching her sister’s (who had walked in to see what the commotion was about) eye.

“Yeah.” Azelma said, setting down a laundry basket. “Come on, Mr. Marius.”

When they left Eponine turned wide eyes on Grantaire, “He can’t do this. I can’t lose both of them.” She said desperately. Grantaire helped her up and led her up the stairs into his room,

After the door was closed Eponine allowed tears to fall. “Grantaire,” She said softly, “I can’t deal with this. I can’t lose them. Why hasn’t he tried to buy me? Am I not good enough?”

“Maybe Cosette will stay.” Grantaire suggested, “Maybe she’ll refuse to leave.”

“People can’t actually refuse to leave, you idiot.” Eponine said, burying her face in his pillow. “Marius will own her. She’ll be his property until he nulls the contract.”

“She could come back. When he nulls the contract.” Grantaire said.

“She won’t. Don’t try to give me hope, it’ll make it worse.” Eponine said miserably.

“Sorry.” Grantaire said, patting her back.

They sat in silence for a long hour, until Eponine decided to get back to her room and cry some more in private.

When she got back to her room she saw that Cosette was already waiting for her.

“Eponine, Marius is buying my contract!” She said, excitedly.

“That’s great, Cosette!” Eponine said, trying to subtly wipe her eyes on her sweater, “I’m so happy for you.”

“Ep, are you okay?” Cosette asked, grabbing the sweater-covered hand that was hiding Eponine’s red eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

“You’re leaving.” Eponine said, sniffling embarrassingly, “And Marius will be too busy with you to come see me anymore, and I’ll be here all alone.”

“Oh, Eponine.” Cosette said, holding the taller girl’s face and standing on her tiptoes to try to kiss her forehead, mostly succeeding. “We’re not leaving you! We’ll get you out of here, just you watch.”

“Promise?” Eponine asked, taking Cosette’s hands from her face and holding them.

“Promise.” Cosette said, pecking Eponine’s lips. Eponine still wasn’t used to the way her heart fluttered at this brief contact. Honestly, they should have been moving their slight relationship faster, they had sex for money for god’s sake. But Cosette was taking things so slow, and acting so innocent about it all that Eponine was honestly just confused. But she wasn’t complaining.

“Marius will be picking me up tonight. Will you braid my hair again?” Cosette asked.

“Of course.” Eponine said, walking over to the vanity and looking for the hairbrush. She found it and turned around, but Cosette was right up behind her.

“What-?” Eponine was going to ask why Cosette was all up in her personal space if she wanted her hair brushed, but Cosette cut her off, pressing her lips to the brunette’s. This kiss was already longer than most of their others, and Cosette’s lips were moving against hers in a way Eponine had never felt before.

She supposed this was why people came to prostitutes, they were so good at this stuff. She shook herself out of her shock, kissing Cosette back. She gently sucked on Cosette’s bottom lip, letting her tongue drag across it. Cosette obligingly opened her mouth, and Eponine brought her hands up to twist them in Cosette’s hair. Eponine took charge for once, generally used to men forcing their tongues into her mouth, and explored Cosette. The blonde didn’t seem to mind at all.

When they broke apart Cosette smiled widely, leaning her forehead against Eponine’s.

“I just wanted to do that before I left. I wanted to remember what you taste like.” She said, pecking Eponine’s lips again, “We’re going to get you out of here, but I’ll miss you until then.”

“Y-yeah.” Eponine said, her heart beating wildly. She usually didn’t get this fluttery unless she was daydreaming about Marius. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“Now brush my hair.” Cosette said, drawing back and sitting on her vanity chair, “Marius won’t be any good at it.”

…

Courfeyrac leaned back on his bed, Jehan’s head resting on his chest. He was laughing as Jehan recited some of the corniest love poems he’d ever read.

“Let me be your electric heater,” Jehan said dramatically as Courfeyrac combed his fingers through his long hair, “I will not run out. Let me be your electric heater that you’ll get cold without.”

“It’s true though,” Courfeyrac said, “You’re good at keeping me warm.”

“That was John Cooper Clarke. He’s so bad at it. And they say that it’s one of the best love poems of all time.” Jehan laughed, snuggling closer to Courfeyrac.

“Nah, that one poem you wrote. The one about bedroom eyes? Yeah. That one should be on that list.” Courfeyrac said, laughing as Jehan’s face turned red.

“No! That’s so embarrassing, I didn’t even write that about you, that was when I had a crush on Grantaire.” Jehan moaned into his hands, “Never bring it up, oh god it was so bad.”

“How about that one… what was it called? ‘The color blue’?” Courfeyrac teased as Jehan tried to hide behind his hair.

“Noooo. Stop.” Jehan said, voice muffled by Courfeyrac’s torso “I sucked so bad at writing, it was so dumb.”

Courfeyrac calmed his laughter after a moment and continued to pet Jehan’s hair until he uncurled himself a little, letting the brunette see his face again. There was sunlight from the window streaming across them and everything felt kind of perfect.

“I wish we could stay here forever.” Jehan said at length.

“We don’t have to work today. We can stay here for hours.” Courfeyrac replied, brushing a stray hair out of Jehan’s face as he looked up at him.

“I wish we had a shitty little apartment and I could make you call off work to stay in bed with me all morning, even though we can’t really afford it. That’s what I want.” Jehan said dreamily.

“That would be wonderful.” Courfeyrac said, “I’d be working in a factory so we can pay the rent, and you’d be a coffee shop barista and we’d stay up too late every night talking even though we’d want to die in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Jehan sighed, “I’d like that.”

There was a long stretch of dreamy silence. It was in these moments that Courfeyrac wondered if Jehan was even real or if he was some sort of figment of his imagination.

“I don’t know how I’d do this without you.” Courfeyrac said, kissing the top of Jehan’s head.

“You won’t have to, silly.” Jehan said, “I’ll be here long after your contract runs out.”

“No you won’t.” Courfeyrac said, “I’ll get you out right away, I’ll pay whatever Thenardier wants. And then we can have that apartment. You’ll see.”

“I love you, Courf.” Jehan said, smiling into Courfeyrac’s chest.

“I love you more.” Courfeyrac said, wrapping his arms around Jehan.

“You get so mushy when we’re alone.” Jehan laughed, causing Courfeyrac to laugh as well.

“Of course, you’re rubbing off on me.” Courfeyrac teased.

It was the perfect afternoon. Nothing could rain on their parade.

…

About a month later not much had changed, besides that Eponine seemed a little more sad and Cosette became a daily customer (for the bar. She’d chat with Eponine, but refused to buy anyone for any amount of time). Musichetta had a short little pregnancy scare, but other than that the brothel had been virtually dama-less.

The brothel was in full swing, customers filling in. Enjolras was about to try to gain a customer when Montparnasse came into The Showroom, Claquesous at his side, both looked more than a little drunk.

“Sorry, but we’ll be taking this little angel,” Claquesous pushed the man Enjolras was talking with aside.

“What? What are you doing?” Enjolras glared at him, dropping his cute facade, making the customer quickly lose interest anyhow.

“We’re buying you for the night.” Montparnasse grinned, as Claquesous grabbed Enjolras’s wrist as he turned away. Enjolras’s felt a pain in his chest, a deep, sinking feeling that made him freeze up. He was only shaken out of his daze as Montparnasse threw him over his shoulder.

“Let go of me, Montparnasse!” he shouted, causing a few people to look over, Enjolras had never lost his cool in The Showroom, and when Grantaire heard his voice above all the others he looked up. Grantaire was worried, but a sharp look from Eponine kept him from going to help. They couldn’t make a scene.

“What was that about?” The man Grantaire had been talking to asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Grantaire said with a fake laugh, “Montparnasse likes it when they do that, he asks us to. We’ll do almost anything you ask.” He grinned, licking his lips seductively, quelling the man’s worries.

Within minutes the door to Enjolras’s room slammed shut behind him, Claquesous locking it, and Montparnasse tossed his ex onto the bed.

Enjolras glared up at the two of them, trying not to tremble.

“Eponine saved you last month,” Montparnasse said, taking Enjolras’s shirt in his hands and ripping it down the middle, “But you won’t be so lucky this time.”

Claquesous grinned wickedly, taking off his own shirt. “And Parnasse brought me along, since I’ve been so good.”

“You’re disgusting…” Enjolras looked pointedly at Claquesous first, and then back to Montparnasse, “Why don’t you just leave me alone already, wasn’t sending me here enough?”

“Disgusting?” Montparnasse laughed, a dangerous sound that made Enjolras’s heart sink, “The whore calls me disgusting?” He spit on Enjolras’s face, and grabbed his hand when he tried to wipe it away, “Leave it there, you have to listen to us. I’m telling you that you have to leave it there.”

Enjolras lifted his other hand and defiantly wiped the spit away. Montparnasse looked enraged, but before he could speak Claquesous reached out and slapped Enjolras across the face.

“No one disrespects the boss like that!” He hissed, taking matters into his own hands and unzipping Enjolras’s pants, stripping them off of him. Enjolras shivered a bit in his boxers, rubbing his sore cheek.

“My loyal Claquesous.” Montparnasse said fondly, stroking the man’s cheek. “If only you had been more like him.”

“Then why don’t you date him instead?” He snarled.

Claquesous slapped Enjolras again, hard enough that Enjolras’s lip cut against one of his teeth, blood trickling down his face. “Don’t talk back!” He growled. Montparnasse looked pleased.

“Claquesous, why don’t you go first?” Montparnasse said, climbing onto the bed behind Enjolras and grabbing his arms so he couldn’t fight back.

“Are you sure?” Claquesous asked, his eyes looking full of a hope that made Enjolras want to vomit.

“Of course.” Montparnasse said. “Just remember to try not to hurt him too bad, I know you like being a little rough.”

“Sure, boss.” Claquesous said, pulling the lube out of the drawer next to the bed. He didn’t put nearly enough on his fingers before pulling down Enjolras’s boxers and forcing two of them inside him. Enjolras had had enough sex that it didn’t hurt as much as it might have two months ago, but the dry friction stung as Claquesous moved too fast.

Enjolras let out a little noise of pain and Montparnasse shifted so that he was sitting on Enjolras’s arms, freeing up his own hands. Enjolras’s arms were already falling asleep and he wanted to bring that up, but he doubted that they’d care.

Claquesous brought his full attention back to himself when he thrust right into Enjolras with no warning. Enjolras cried out in pain and surprise as he felt a little part of himself tear. The dry friction stopped after a few moments as presumably blood lubricated the way for Claquesous’s cock as it pounded into him nonstop. Montparnasse’s hands wandered across Enjolras’s torso, and he leaned down across Enjolras’s body, giving him a close up view of the man’s still clothed chest, while he started to kiss Enjolras’s stomach, starting to work on making a hickey.

“I want the world to know what a whore you’ve been.” Montparnasse said as Enjolras whimpered in pain. Claquesous was speeding up his erratic pace, something Enjolras hadn’t really thought physically possible.

Claquesous came, which sent a stinging, gross sensation through Enjolras’s body as it went past the tears inside him. He whimpered again, but resolutely kept his mouth shut. When Claquesous pulled out his penis was covered in blood, making Enjolras’s stomach turn over.

“Oh, you’ve been too hard on him.” Montparnasse said, looking over, “Now I can’t have my turn.”

“I’m sorry, boss.” Claquesous said, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I guess I’ll just have to make due with his mouth.” He said with a put-upon sigh, getting off Enjolras’s arms, unzipping his pants and pulling out his already hard member. Claquesous pushed Enjolras off the bed.

“Kneel.” He ordered, Enjolras didn’t move. “I said kneel!” Claquesous yelled, dragging Enjolras up by his arm, his grip bruising.

“Please don’t.” Enjolras whimpered out, he couldn’t take any more.

Montparnasse just laughed at him, sitting on the edge of the bed and dragging Enjolras closer with hands around his neck. Enjolras gagged as Montparnasse’s dick, having a hard time breathing with Montparnasse’s hands around his throat.

Montparnasse only clenched his hands tighter as he got more turned on, forcing Enjolras’s head to bob the way he wanted it to in time with his thrusts. Just when Enjolras was sure he wouldn’t be able to stay conscious, his vision swimming black, Montparnasse loosened his grip, allowing Enjolras to actually take a breath. He tightened his grip again soon after though, as he pace picked up.

Claquesous was behind Enjolras while all of this was happening, holding his arms behind his back. which served to keep Enjolras up and also keep him from fighting back.

Montparnasse came quickly, keeping himself in Enjolras’s mouth until he swallowed, then letting go of him, letting his head fall forward.

“You’re nothing but a fucking whore, I can’t believe I ever thought we were any sort of equals.” Montparnasse said, slapping him across the face for good measure, before Claquesous dropped him to the floor.

“We had better tell Thenardier about what you did.” Montparnasse said to Claquesous, “He’ll be mad if we just send him back out there.”

They left and Enjolras was alone once more.

…

Enjolras hadn’t left his room in three days, staying in his bed, staring at the wall across from him. He kept his back to the door, in case someone actually did come in. The first day he’d been so sick he spent the majority of his time in the bathroom, unable to keep the contents of his stomach down. Azelma had brought him some food, but he hadn’t eaten any of it after that. His cheek was bruised from the slapping, and his neck was worse, black, blue, and red in a ring around his throat. His body was stiff and aching, not as much signs of the abuse there, aside from pain and bruised hand prints on his arms.

Grantaire came in the third day. Azelma had kept him out of the room the first two days, trying to give Enjolras time to recover, but she was worried as well, so he was allowed in today.

“Enjolras? I brought you some cookies. Azelma just made them and they’re like the best thing ever, you have to have one.” Grantaire said, trying not to focus too hard on the man’s injuries, though he could only see the ones on his back.

“I’m not hungry.” Enjolras said quietly, pulling the blankets more over himself.

“That’s fine.” Grantaire said, putting the plate down on Enjolras’s bedside table. “I wanted to see you yesterday, but Azelma said you didn’t really want to see anyone.”

“I don’t.” he said, flatly.

“I… uh. I missed you yesterday. It was slow and I wanted to make fun of people with you.” Grantaire said, trying to change the subject.

Enjolras sat up in bed, his blue eyes dull, but focused in a glare. The blanket fell off his chest, and now that he was facing Grantaire it was easier to see all the bruises, and how pale and sleepless he looked, “Please leave. I have to get ready for tonight.”

“I-I guess I’ll leave then. Um. I hope you feel better soon.” Grantaire stuttered out, looking down to avoid looking in Enjolras’s eyes. “I, um. I do miss you.”

And with that, he turned and left the room.

…

When Grantaire got down that night he was already slightly drunk. Enjolras was sitting with several customers, a shady looking group of individuals, leaning on one man’s shoulder. He was wearing wrist cuffs and a collar-like choker on his neck, the rest of the bruises mostly hidden with foundation. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a real smile, his eyes still so dull. He flirted with them, not seeming to be targeting anyone, but all of them, something most of the escorts avoided doing. Even though it was worth more money, it was also much more risky.

“Come on,” Enjolras’s voice was audible through the talk of the rest of The Showroom, his voice very distinct, especially to Grantaire’s ears. “Wouldn’t it be worth it?” Enjolras’ breath was on the man’s neck, so much closer to them than usual.

“You’re too cute to resist,” the man smirked back at him, leaning in to give Enjolras a long kiss. Enjolras didn’t stop him, kissing back, even as his hands wandered down his sides. Finally Enjolras pulled back, “If you want to do anything else, we’ll have to go upstairs,” he smirked a little.

The man who he’d kissed smirked back, “Come on boys,” he said. Enjolras let the man put his hand on his waist as they walked up the stairs, to Enjolras’s room.

Grantaire actually physically got up to stop it, to do something, but Thenardier was watching him, watching all the whores, and there was nothing Grantaire could do. He only got one customer that night, he was too concerned with Enjolras to concentrate.

…

Things went the same way for the next several nights, Enjolras pulling in more and more customers, but during his free time avoiding absolutely everyone. Even Courfeyrac was worried, but he’d avoided Enjolras since he snapped at him when Courfeyrac had tried to get him to open up.

Courfeyrac sat in The Showroom, the following Tuesday, face in his hands. When Grantaire came down, he noticed him, sitting beside him. “What’s the matter, Courf?” Grantaire frowned.

“I know Enjolras didn’t want me to talk about it… But I need to tell someone. Enjolras isn’t acting like himself at all.” Courfeyrac sighed, sitting up a little.

“You can trust me,” Grantaire frowned. It was getting to be too much for him to handle as well.

“When Montparnasse visited him the first week… He did the same thing. Enjolras was really shaken up, but in the end he just pretended that it never happened... “ Courfeyrac looked at his hands, “I should have made sure he was more okay, but I was too busy trying to deflect the whole thing. And then I left him alone because I was too busy with Jehan.”  

“Oh man,” Grantaire said, “That’s why he freaked out so badly before Montparnasse took him.” He looked over to Courfeyrac who looked insanely guilty, “Hey man, it’s not your fault that this is happening. I’ll… I’ll go talk to him or something. Maybe I can reason with him.”

“Okay.” Courfeyrac said doubtfully, “But I don’t think he’s really in a listening mood.”

“It’s Enjolras, Courf.” Grantaire said, trying for a more cheerful mood, “When is he ever in a listening mood?”

Courfeyrac let out a watery laugh and Grantaire leaned over to hug him,

“He’ll be fine eventually.” Grantaire said, “Just watch.”

…

Grantaire went to Enjolras’s room, knocking lightly on the door before letting himself in. Enjolras was lying on his side, facing away from the door, but Grantaire could tell he was awake.

“Enjolras.” Grantaire said quietly, walking in and sitting on the edge of his bed, not close enough to touch Enjolras, but sort of in his personal space.

Enjolras sighed deeply, “What is it?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Me and Courf miss you, Enj. We want you to be okay.” Grantaire said, reaching out but not actually touching Enjolras before he let his hand fall to the comforter.

“I’m fine.” he said, biting his lip. He tensed up a little.

“You’re not fine. You haven’t even been down to see anyone, you haven’t even read the newspaper. There was this big debate about prostitute’s rights and you probably don’t even know about it.” Grantaire pulled a folded up piece of paper from three days ago’s newspaper out of his pocket and smoothed it out, reaching over Enjolras to put it down in front of him.

Enjolras looked at it, smiling a little bit. “I didn’t know anyone even cared anymore…” His smile faded though, “You can’t tell in here.”

“You can’t.” Grantaire agreed, “But that doesn’t mean that they should stop fighting, that you should stop fighting. Every little comfort we have is because of those struggles. And things can only improve from here. Plus with the election coming up it’ll be a huge topic, people will be so aware and there’ll be more pressure for a change.” Grantaire actually touched Enjolras’s shoulder now, “And you helped with that.”

Enjolras nodded a little. He swallowed a bit as he set the paper back down. He covered his eyes, shoulders trembling a little. He was crying.

Grantaire’s heart dropped, scooting closer on the bed and resting one of his crossed legs next to Enjolras so they were still touching. “Hey,” He said, rubbing his shoulder, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

“Grantaire-” he choked, he sat up a little, still trying to hide his face, his hair doing a fair job of  covering it. “I don’t even have a choice anymore… No choice in anything, not even who I fuck…” He balled up his fists a little, holding the sheets tightly.

Grantaire reached out and touched Enjolras’s face, making him look at him. “Hey, you have some choices. You can tell some johns to fuck off, we’re allowed that. And you can choose to have sex with someone you love. I mean look at Courf and Jehan.” He smiled a little, “And things will change.”

Enjolras blushed, looking away a little. When he had initially joined the brothel, he had thought Grantaire was rather cute, despite their disagreements, but ever since he’d came to him to comfort him after Thenardier had reprimanded him, the thought that he was cute had grown more into a mild crush. He had been avoiding Grantaire because he hadn’t wanted him to see him like this.

“And Courf told me a little about Montparnasse.” Grantaire admitted, “I swear to god, if he tries to get you next month I’ll stop him. I promise. I’ll get Eponine to seduce him again or something.” He looked Enjolras in the eyes, “I’ll seduce him if it comes down to it. But I’ll keep him away from you.”

Enjolras leaned in, kissing Grantaire suddenly, a hand delicately touching Grantaire’s cheek. He looked quite nervous, as he pulled away. “Thank you.”

“What was that for?” Grantaire asked, smiling like an idiot and tentatively taking Enjolras’s other hand.

“I guess… I wanted to.” he smiled slightly, looking back at Grantaire. “Is that okay?”

“Of course.” Grantaire said, “To be honest I’ve wanted to do that for months now.” He squeezed their laced fingers together. “I’m more worried about how you are.”

“I’ll be okay.” he sighed, although he wasn’t completely okay he’d admit, he knew he would be able to get better. He smiled a little bit, “I’m sorry for worrying you and Courfeyrac.”

“It’s fine.” Grantaire said, caressing Enjolras’s face, running his thumb over his cheek. “Can I kiss you again?”

Enjolras nodded, “Mhm.”

Grantaire smiled, leaning in and kissing Enjolras, a little bit deeper this time. Enjolras shivered a little as he felt Grantaire’s hands on his waist. He placed his hands over Grantaire’s guiding them somewhat, as a show of his consent to go further. It was the first time in a long time he’d actually felt something for someone and wanted this kind of attention.

Grantaire lifted the hem of Enjolras’s shirt, letting his hands explore the flat planes of the blond’s stomach. He broke off the kiss so he could take off Enjolras’s, then his own shirt. He repositioned them so that Enjolras was on his lap and moved in to kiss him again. He let Enjolras take control of the kiss, opening his mouth slightly so the other man could have access. Their tongues met and the kiss became more heated, rushed. Enjolras’s hands were on Grantaire’s face, trying to get him impossibly closer and Grantaire’s were on Enjolras’s hips, trying to keep him steady.

Unconsciously Grantaire grinded up a bit into Enjolras, and his eyes flashed open, afraid he’d gone too far too fast, but Enjolras had just moved as well.

Enjolras looked a little embarrassed as their kiss momentarily paused, “Grantaire… I… It still hurts a little…” he bit his lip. “Shit… maybe we should’ve waited…”

“You can top.” Grantaire said quickly, “I mean, I know I usually do, but I don’t mind. Not with you.”

“I.. I can?” he blushed. In all his history with men, mainly Montparnasse he had never topped. “Are you sure?”

Grantaire grinned, “‘Course.”

Enjolras moved his hands to undo Grantaire’s pants, looking up at him nervously, the further he went, making sure he was doing it properly.

Grantaire helped him, wriggling out of his tight pants and throwing them to the ground. Enjolras unzipped his own and did the same, grateful that they weren’t going to do the whole “sexily undressing each other” thing that so many men who came in wanted.

Grantaire reached into the bedside table, taking out a condom for Enjolras and the lube. He handed them to Enjolras, and Enjolras captured his lips in a kiss once more. Grantaire leaned back against the pillows after the kiss broke off and Enjolras popped open the cap of the lube. He coated his fingers, squeezing out maybe a little too much, but Grantaire wasn’t complaining. Too much was far better than too little.

Enjolras’s cold finger slid into Grantaire and suddenly he felt a well of panic. He tried to suppress it, as Enjolras moved the finger around and added a second, but it was getting harder to breathe by the second. Grantaire tried to figure out why this was happening, but he couldn’t even think of a single time he’d done this when he wasn’t drunk.

When Enjolras put in another finger it was suddenly too much. He was shaking now, his breathing labored. Enjolras looked up, suddenly aware of the weird reaction.

“Grantaire?” He asked, taking his fingers out. Grantaire curled up on himself a little. “Hey, are you alright?”

Grantaire shook his head, reaching up to cover his face. He tried to regulate his breathing, but thus far he was failing. Enjolras tried to touch him, but he flinched away from the contact.

‘I’m having a panic attack.’ He realized as it got harder and harder to breathe. He hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

“Taire, how am I supposed to help?” Enjolras asked, feeling useless.

“Count.” Grantaire gasped out. Enjolras started to count, but Grantaire shook his head, “Slower.”

Enjolras restarted his count and Grantaire tried to get his breaths in time with them, until they started going back to normal. The sat in silence for a moment as Grantaire breathed heavily.

“Do you want your boxers?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire nodded. Enjolras left the bed and returned moments later, Grantaire’s boxers in hand and his own on. Grantaire numbly slipped them on, curling up again once they were on.

Silence again.

“I’m sorry.” Grantaire said, sounding miserable.

“No, you don’t have to be sorry, I’m sorry.” Enjolras said, “I shouldn’t have suggested this.”

“No, I should have known better.” Grantaire said, “I never do that unless I’m drunk.”

“Why?” Enjolras blurted, “You don’t have to answer, but I’m just curious.” He backtracked, feeling bad for asking.

“No, no. It’s not like a secret or anything, just… no one knows. Cause no one’s asked before.” Grantaire said, bringing himself up into a sitting position and grabbing Enjolras’s hand. “Um. I don’t generally bottom because, um. How do I explain this?” He blew a curl out of his face. and thought.

There was a moment of silence as Grantaire gathered his thoughts. His hand was trembling in nervousness, and Enjolras squeezed it reassuringly.

“The first time I got drunk was when I was ten years old.” Grantaire started. “Courf or Jehan might have told you, but I used to have a bit of a drinking problem. It’s calmed down a little now, mostly because I have to earn more ‘allowance’ to afford it or get someone else to buy it for me, but before Thenardier tricked me into working here I used to get drunk all the time. And alcohol was my main motivation for even trying when I got here, I wanted more money to get drunk. But the first time I got drunk was when I was ten.”

“That’s so young.” Enjolras whispered, rubbing his thumb across the back of Grantaire’s hand.

“Yeah, well it wasn’t legal. I was here to visit Eponine, well not here. Their old place, when it was a low class hellhole. I was there to visit Eponine, but she wasn’t home for some reason. Thenardier invited me into his office and gave me these sweet drinks until I could barely see straight. I don’t think he thinks I remember, hell I thought it was a nightmare for a long time, but after I was too drunk to be coherent he fucked me. And ever since I… I just don’t really bottom. Unless I’m too drunk to know what’s happening I don’t bottom.” Grantaire said, trying to rush through the explanation, to get it over with.

Enjolras was quiet for a moment.

“Does Eponine know?” He asked. Grantaire shook his head.

“Yeah, I told her a couple years back.” Grantaire said, “She says that he did something like that to her, but he hasn’t gotten his hands on Azelma or Gavroche. Gavroche is always too busy running around the streets and Eponine’s mom flat out forbid anything happen to Azelma until she’s of age, but Eponine gets worried from time to time.”

Another moment of silence.

“I know that I shouldn’t be complaining. It wasn’t even that bad and it was over fucking ten years ago, I should be over it. If either of us is freaking out about sex stuff it should be you, I’m sorry.” Grantaire said, pulling his hand out of Enjolras’s now lax grip. “I’ll just, uh… get dressed and go, I guess.”

As he moved to get off the bed Enjolras’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Grantaire looked up at the blond, to ask why he was stopping him, but he the question never came out when he saw the murderous rage in Enjolras’s eyes.

“Grantaire, never apologize for stuff like that. I’m just… I’m so angry.” He said, “You’re stuck working here, forever, with someone who fucking molested you because you accidentally signed a contract? I just… fuck this world.” Enjolras took a breath as if to calm himself, but there was still righteous fire in his eyes, “Fuck, I promise that we’re going to get out of here. I’m going to get you away from him if it’s the last fucking thing I do.”

“It’s not that bad.” Grantaire said, which just about shattered Enjolras’s heart, “Nothing like what happened to you or Eponine.”

“Shut up.” Enjolras said softly, leaning his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. “What did you say about venting when I first got here? Something like you shouldn’t try to one up each other on tragedy because it’s all equally bad. Do that.”

“You listen to me? Aw, Apollo. I didn’t know you cared.” Grantaire said, trying to lighten the mood. He put his arm around Enjolras, hugging him close.

“Obviously I do.” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes despite how Grantaire couldn’t see.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and night hanging out and talking, and the next day when Enjolras was down in The Showroom he was his usual aloof self, acting all innocent and not seeking men out. Grantaire grinned as he got someone to pay for his drink at the bar. Things might be getting a little better.

…

A week later, Musichetta came downstairs after a patron left, with a black eye and reported it to Thenardier. He insisted on knowing who injured his whores, as he was running a high class place, his workers were supposed to look a certain way. It would be added to the man’s bill and Musichetta would get a couple days off for the swelling to go down, and then she’d put makeup on and be back on the floor.

The next day, however, Joly and Bossuet arrived and asked to see her. Grantaire, who was their closest friend in the brothel outside of Musichetta, told them what happened, and they demanded to see her anyways.

Grantaire refused, saying that they’d all get in trouble if Joly and Bossuet broke the rules, but the black eye wasn’t that bad, the swelling should be down the next day. She’d be out to see them. They agreed to wait one day to see her, but they were going to be back tomorrow, so he went back to talking to Bahorel.

The next day Musichetta was indeed in The Showroom, but her eye was still a little swollen. The boys bought her for the night and took her upstairs.

She washed off the makeup as soon as they were alone and both of them looked extremely upset to see the bright colors decorating her face.

“It’s not that bad.” Musichetta said, unconsciously echoing Grantaire’s words from earlier in the week. “I’ve had worse.”

“When?” Bossuet asked as Joly asked “Who did that?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Musichetta said, crossing her arms. “I know that you boys want to think that I’m yours, but Thenardier, for all intents and purposes, owns me. You can’t protect me from all the evil of the world, I am the evils of this world.”

“We’re trying to get you out of here.” Bossuet said, sounding miserable.

“I know, sweetie.” Musichetta said, softening and letting her arms fall from her tough stance. “And in two years I’ll be out anyways, but you just have to understand that this is the way things are right now.”

…

Over the next three weeks Joly and Bossuet didn’t visit at all, which worried Musichetta almost as much as Eponine was freaking out over the fact that Cosette and Marius were doing the same thing to her. The girls had long talks together sometimes about how they missed their significant others and how Jehan and Grantaire were too busy with their mushy relationships to even really talk to.

One Thursday all four of the missing persons actually came in, looking supremely apologetic. While Cosette stayed by the bar, only hugging Eponine before she went upstairs with Marius, Joly and Bossuet escorted Musichetta upstairs right away.

“Where on Earth do you think you’ve been?” Musichetta demanded when the door was closed.

“We’re sorry.” Joly and Bossuet said in unison.

“We were trying to save up money to get you out of here.” Bossuet said, taking one of her hands.

“And we asked Thenardier to tell you we wouldn’t be in.” Joly added.

“You think Thenardier would tell me anything? There’s a reason we aren’t allowed to make calls.” Musichetta said, rolling her eyes a little, but smiling. “We’re not supposed to develop feelings outside of the bedroom. It’s bad for business.”

…

In the next bedroom over Marius and Eponine were having virtually the same conversation.

“So I guess you finally got sick of wasting your money coming to see me.” Eponine said, sitting down on her bed and looking at the floor.

“Wait, no! We didn’t mean to not visit you, honestly.” Marius said, looking shocked that Eponine would say such a thing. Eponine knew full well that they didn’t forget about her, but she never was one to resist guilt tripping Marius.

“No, you realized you were wasting your money on a whore, so you stopped coming in. I understand. You have Cosette now and she’s pretty enough to keep you satisfied.” Eponine said, sighing dramatically.

“No, I mean, yes? No. Oh my god, I’m confused.” Marius said, “Eponine, just stop talking for a bit, I have to tell you something important.”

“Oh, do go on.” Eponine said, still pretending to be upset, “Just remember you’re paying by the hour.”

“We’re getting you out of here.” Marius said. Eponine dropped the act, looking up at him.

“What? You’ve never said that before, why now?” Eponine asked, looking vaguely hopeful.

“I’ve tried to buy you before, Ponine, but your father wouldn’t let me buy your contract from him.” Marius explained in a hushed tone, “But I’ve been looking into Thenardier and it looks like he’s been selling drugs out of an old inn on West Avenue.”

“The old brothel.” Eponine said, nodding.

“If that gets shut down he’ll be sent to jail and the oldest of his family will get all of the prostitute contracts. That’s you, since your mother never legally married him. Ponine, you can let everyone go.” Marius said, grinning at her.

“You’re serious? This is a thing that can be happening?” Eponine asked, looking simultaneously skeptical and hopeful.

“Yeah, we’ve got a police officer investigating right now. Cosette knew him, his name was Inspector Javert? She said that he will go to any means to find someone who’s breaking the law and we can trust him with this case, so I’ll trust her judgement.” Marius said with a slight shrug.

“We’re gonna get out of here?” Eponine asked, her face breaking into a smile.

“You’re going to get out of here.” Marius said, “Promise.”

…

It was very late on a Friday night that Grantaire came to visit Enjolras in his room. Thenardier had long since left the brothel to go back home, and since Fridays were so busy most people were just going to bed. For the past several weeks Grantaire and Enjolras had gotten undoubtedly close, though Enjolras was alway worried that Grantaire would have another panic attack, so he remained as passive as he could be whenever they messed around.

“Enjy?” Grantaire smiled as he slipped in, eyes lighting up when he saw the thin blond, brushing out his hair in a red silk robe. He was always so beautiful…

“Grantaire,” Enjolras smiled, setting the brush down and walking over. Being with him always calmed him down, especially after a long day of work.

“You look absolutely lovely.” Grantaire grinned.

Enjolras blushed, smiling a little, “Oh hush up. You always say that.” He nuzzled against Grantaire’s cheek.

“I’m serious, you do.” Grantaire said, “You never stop, it’s beginning to be a problem. The flowers that Bahorel gave me are starting to get jealous.”

Enjolras laughed a little bit, taking Grantaire’s hands in his own, walking back to the bed. Soon Enjolras was laying back on the bed, Grantaire hovering over him. Grantaire kissed Enjolras, his lips trailing down his neck, as a hand pulled the ribbon that held his robe together apart.

Enjolras faintly blushed, gasping a little as Grantaire paused to gently tweak his nipples. The blond moaned as he felt Grantaire’s hand move to his groin, gently stroking his penis.

Grantaire blushed a little himself as Enjolras’s hands moved to Grantaire’s pants, unbuttoning them and pulling down the hem of his boxers, letting his dick spring forth. Enjolras smirked, looking up at Grantaire as he too began to give the man a hand job, watching his expressions of pleasure.

It was not long till they were both naked. When Grantaire finally entered Enjolras, he pushed in gently, Enjolras moaning loudly. He held Grantaire’s shoulders, smiling up at him a little, but the happy moment was cut short when both of the men froze, hearing Thenardier’s distinct footsteps, coming down the hall.

They tried to quickly scramble to cover up, but it was far too late, neither dressed when Thenardier threw the door open, “I thought I heard something…” he snarled.

“Thenardier,” Grantaire tried, but Thenardier silenced him with a look.

“I thought you knew better than this, Grantaire.” The man said, shaking his head. “Stay here, I’ll have something to deal with you in the morning.”

Thenardier slammed the door shut, locking it behind him.

Enjolras still held his robe around himself, but what had been a smile on his face and desire in his eyes had become blank and pale. He looked at Grantaire for a moment, before looking back down, “What do we do?” He wasn’t ready for another one of Thenardier’s punishments, but he had no idea how bad it would really be.

“I don’t know.” Grantaire said, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s waist and burying his face in his golden hair, “I’ve never had him that mad at me before.”

Enjolras hugged Grantaire tightly, trying not to panic. For all he knew he’d just get kicked around a bit like before. “Yeah…” he said softly, the reality of the situation not dawning on him till the next morning, when he heard several familiar voices approaching the room.

“I love you.” Grantaire whispered, pulling away and sitting a good distance away from Enjolras on the bed, so not to anger Thenardier any more by being close to Enjolras.

“I love you too…” Enjolras said softly. When the door opened, his heart sank as Thenardier let in Montparnasse, Claquesous, Gueulemer, and Babet.

“Good morning boys, I brought you some company,” Thenardier smirked, crossing his arms. Seeing Enjolras already shaking was reason enough to have brought the gang in. They would certainly teach them a lesson they would not forget.

The Patron-Minette wasted no time, Gueulemer grabbed Grantaire off of the bed, lifting him by the front of his shirt (they had gotten dressed sometime in the morning, between Thenardier leaving and his return) and slamming his fist into the prostitute’s face. Grantaire let out a cry of pain.

Gueulemer was the strongest and most intimidating of the group, and Grantaire had never felt more afraid of him. Grantaire had always sort of considered Gueulemer an ally, but now…

He looked up and saw, that Babet was dragging Enjolras out of the bed and throwing him to the ground. He got a glimpse of Claquesous kicking the blond before Gueulemer punched his face again. Grantaire had had a broken nose before, so he was familiar with the sickening crunch as it broke under Gueulemer’s fist. Tears streamed down his face. Grantaire’s vision swam before his eyes, and all he could do was feel the white hot pain of his broken nose and listen to Enjolras’s whimpers.

After a moment, Grantaire’s vision cleared up again. He could see Thenardier watching it all, leaned back against the wall next to the door. He tried to speak, to call out to the man. Maybe he still cared for Grantaire, at some level. Maybe Grantaire could make a bargain to get Enjolras out of this.

Before he could get a word out Gueulemer punching in the stomach. It felt as though he had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, leaving Grantaire gasping at carbon dioxide, breathing but not getting any air.

Grantaire was on the floor now, how had he ended up there? He couldn’t tell. But Thenardier was leaving the room, Grantaire’s chance to get them out of this was gone, and he watched as Enjolras was shoved onto the bed and Montparnasse leaned over him.

“Wait,” Grantaire gasped, so quiet they couldn’t hear him at first, “Wait!” This time, the word came out louder, and Montparnasse looked over, amused.

“What?” He asked, his voice annoyed. Grantaire scrambled for a reason to get the leader of the Patron-Minette away from Grantaire.

“Parnasse, I’ve never had a chance with you.” Grantaire said, trying to get his voice to the proper husky tone he used on his patrons. “It’d be a shame if Enjolras got you all to himself.”

Montparnasse laughed, but Grantaire had expected that. He’d feel ashamed later, now he just needed the evil man off of his boyfriend. Gueulemer tensed, Grantaire could feel his grip tighten on his arm.

“Fine.” Montparnasse said, “But I won’t be as gentle as I usually am with my angel.” He looked at the man holding Grantaire, “Gueulemer, put him on the bed and hold him there.”

Gueulemer obeyed, picking Grantaire off the ground by the arm and all but throwing him at the bed. Grantaire’s shoulder throbbed painfully, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t dislocated. He couldn’t really gauge pain now, since every breath made it feel like tiny knives were traveling through his nose.

Montparnasse was taking off Grantaire’s pants before he had a chance to adjust. Grantaire bit his tongue instead of protesting like he wanted to. He focused on the throbbing, sharp pain in his nose and tried not to pay attention to Montparnasse as the man ordered Claquesous to grab the lube out of the bedside table.

“Get off of him!” Enjolras screamed between kicks as he was curled up on the ground, trying to block his torso from any injury. He was silenced by a boot to the side of his jaw, making him whimper loudly. After that Enjolras did not form any other words, only garbled cries of pain.

From The Showroom the escorts listened in horror. Courfeyrac winced as he heard another incoherent shriek from his friend. Grantaire’s voice however was nothing but broken sobs, which made Eponine pace, holding herself a little. It hadn’t been like this before. Somehow, in the past several months things had gone from bearable to horrific.

Back upstairs Babet yanked Enjolras’s head from the ground, pulling him by his hair, which was dampened in one area with blood, where Claquesous had gone a little too far. He glanced to Grantaire, his vision somewhat blurry, both clouded with tears, and black in certain parts. The brunette wasn’t holding up well himself, and it made Enjolras’s heart sink to hear his sobbing. He didn’t feel anything as Babet violated him, Claquesous thrusting his cock into his mouth, despite his jaw being dislocated to the right. Nothing was worse than listening to Grantaire, who had sacrificed himself so that Enjolras wouldn’t have to face Montparnasse again.

Montparnasse was thrusting into Grantaire, ignoring the sobs that the man was no longer trying to cover up. Grantaire was too focused on trying not to die as he gasped for air, panic swelling every time he felt Montparnasse move. He felt like he was having a heart attack, they weren’t seriously trying to kill them, right? That would be too expensive. But Grantaire couldn’t see any other reason for Montparnasse to keep going.

Combeferre once told him that during panic attacks he should try and take stock of the world around him, try to focus on something outside of himself. He pried open his good eye, taking in the scene around him. He saw Enjolras on the ground, Babet and Claquesous both upon him. If Grantaire tried hard enough to listen past his own heartbeat he could hear Enjolras making heart wrenching sounds. His face looked a little off, but Grantaire wasn’t really sure if it wasn’t just his imagination.

Grantaire felt something tear inside himself. Montparnasse had been true to his word, he was not being gentle at all. And Grantaire wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with this. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to zone everything out again, unsuccessfully.

He opened his eyes once more to see Babet pulling out of Enjolras. Claquesous finished as well, pushing Enjolras to the ground and kicking at him once more. Enjolras whimpered a little, but was mostly silent.

“Don’t.” Grantaire whispered between sobs, “Please just stop.”

Montparnasse thought the words were for him and laughed again, “But I thought you said you wanted this. If you want I can just go get a little taste of our little sugar over there.”

Grantaire shook his head furiously, trying to control his breathing enough to gasp out words.

“What? I can’t hear you, R. You’ve got to speak up.” Montparnasse said, slowing his thrusts to taunt Grantaire.

“I want you.” Grantaire gasped out, “Please.”

Montparnasse pulled out anyways, and Grantaire thought that maybe he hadn’t been convincing enough. Gueulemer stood up, letting Grantaire’s arms go and Montparnasse just flipped Grantaire over so that his semi-hard dick was pointing at up.

“Show me how much you want this.” Montparnasse said, prying Grantaire’s hand off the sheets and wrapping it around his member. “You have to get yourself off for me. Or I’ll go on to him.”

Grantaire tightened his grip around his own cock, trying to jerk himself off. He was shaking badly, but he steeled himself and tried harder. Finally he got into a rhythm, but it was broken just as quickly as Montparnasse entered him once more.

“Keep going.” Montparnasse demanded as Grantaire froze, his breathing and heart rate accelerating. He forced himself to move, though he was sure that his heart would burst out of his chest.

‘If I’m going to die here so be it.’ He thought, moving his hand faster, trying to get this over with. Montparnasse soon came and pulled out for good this time, but he demanded that Grantaire continue what he was doing.

Eventually Grantaire got himself off, closing his eyes afterwards. He didn’t want to see Montparnasse’s look of satisfaction.

“I think they’ve been properly warned against doing that again.” Montparnasse said. “Gueulemer, grab Grantaire and take him back to his room. Claquesous, Babet, back to business.”

Grantaire was dragged off the bed and down the hall. Enjolras was left in the room, laying on the ground beside his bed. He tried to pull himself up, sore, all of the pain he had been immune to sinking back in now that he was alone. He stumbled to the mirror across from his bed after pulling himself up. He looked at his tear streaked and pathetic face in the mirror, putting a hand on either side of his jaw and jerking it back into it’s place, screaming a little. He clenched a fist, slamming it into the wall. Grantaire...

Gueulemer opened the door to Grantaire’s room and gently set him on the bed.

“I… I’m sorry.” The giant man said, leaving quickly and slamming the door. It locked behind him.

Grantaire lay silently for a moment, wincing when he heard a scream of pain from Enjolras’s room. When his breathing evened out he pulled himself out of bed, groaning in pain. He slowly hunted around for certain objects before he sat in front of his mirror, unconsciously paralleling Enjolras.

He had found a ruler and a paperweight (courtesy of Gavroche). They were as close as he could get to what he needed to put his nose back into place before it healed crooked. Gueulemer had punched him so that his nose was now very out of place.

He inserted the end of the ruler into his nostril (even that caused him to see sparks behind his eyes) and steeled himself, before striking it with the paperweight.

There was a sickening noise as his nose went mostly back into place. Grantaire doubled over, the ruler and paperweight falling from his hands as he screamed into his hands. He let himself cry for a couple of moments, before looking back at the mirror and gingerly trying to move his nose back to where it was supposed to be.

He stared at himself in the mirror as memories of what had just transpired washed over him. He put his throbbing face in his hands in shame. He couldn’t look himself in the eye after what Montparnasse had done to him, what he had done for him. The only thing that saved some of his sanity was the knowledge that he protected Enjolras from what he most feared, and that made him happy in some probably twisted way.

…

That same night both men were called down to The Showroom by Thenardier, not to actively seek out customers, but both being offered discounted for the night. Grantaire sat near the bar, trying not to look too pathetic, lest Thenardier scold him. When Enjolras walked down the staircase he saw Grantaire, immediately looking away, holding his cheek, which was quite swollen, not wanting Grantaire to look at him. He walked with a bit of a limp, not used to coming down so soon after an injury, but he ignored it.

He sat down far across The Showroom, near the door, on a couch that faced away from the bar. Grantaire noticed Enjolras avoiding him and his heart sank, though he tried to rationalize it with the fact that Thenardier was right there.

About half an hour into the night Joly came in to visit Musichetta and noticed Grantaire sitting by the bar. He walked over, wanting to have a conversation with his friend before he adjourned for the night, but when he saw Grantaire’s face, the smile he’d been wearing turned into a concerned frown.

“Grantaire, what happened?”Joly asked, lightly touching his shoulder. Grantaire twitched a little under Joly’s hand, but resisted the urge to shrug it off.

“Nothing.” Grantaire said, plastering a smile across his swollen face, “I’m fine Joly.”

“Grantaire, you’re hurt… is your nose broken?” He asked, looking even more alarmed.

“Joly.” Grantaire said through his teeth as he kept the smile on his face. He nodded very slightly in Thenardier’s direction, “Go see Musichetta.”

Joly looked visibly upset, but he nodded. He went to hug Grantaire and whispered in his ear.

“I’ll come over tomorrow, offer to look over you and Enjolras for free. I saw him when I came in and he looks like he’s in rough shape too.” Joly drew back and walked away, leading Musichetta upstairs.

Combeferre walked in later in the night, immediately noticing Enjolras sitting alone on one of the couches near the door. The right side of his face was swollen and mildly bruised, but he was unable to discern any other injuries from the long sleeve almost pink sweater he wore, with tight black pants and red socks. He was hiding his injuries, but Combeferre could see his chest moving up and down with each breath, somewhat erratically.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre asked, walking up to him. “Are you okay?” He looked at the blond, who in turn, looked away. “Come on. I’ll pay for the night.” he offered Enjolras his hand.

Enjolras took it gingerly, “Okay.”

The two went upstairs and Combeferre made Enjolras lay down. “Alright, what happened?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, examining Enjolras’s cheek, lightly pressing it to make sure everything was in it’s proper place, making Enjolras wince.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Enjolras mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw Combeferre’s saddened face. He felt guilty, “Thenardier caught me and Grantaire together.” Enjolras spoke softly, unable to meet Combeferre’s gaze.

“Enjolras…” Combeferre frowned, suddenly pulling him forward to give him a gentle hug, “I’m sorry. But I’ve been talking with Marius, he’s trying to get all of you out of here.”

Enjolras nodded a little, “I know.” He sighed deeply as Combeferre let him go. News traveled around the brothel fast.

Combeferre looked over his friend, “Will you let me look at you? I want to make sure you’re alright.”

Enjolras nodded a little, laying back down on the bed. He hadn’t had Combeferre look at him since the one time he’d broken his leg during a protest a few years back.

Combeferre gently lifted up the edge of Enjolras’s sweater, looking at his chest. It had small cuts and larger bruises all over, some areas worse than others, though there was nothing he could do for it, really. He had Enjolras strip down to his boxers so he could finish the exam, making sure nothing was broken. Enjolras was mostly fine, only having a few minor fractures aside from his bruises.

“Well, I can’t do much, other than tell you to keep some ice on your cheek, it’ll keep the swelling down, and take this.” Combeferre dug through his pocket, pulling out a little tin of pills. “It’ll help a bit with the pain.”

“Thank you ‘Ferre.” Enjolras said quietly, grateful he had a friend like Combeferre. He never knew why they’d lost touch.

…

Bahorel walked in a few moments after Enjolras went upstairs with Combeferre. Grantaire had almost let out an audible sigh of relief when Combeferre had swooped in to Enjolras’s rescue, but he had restrained himself.

Bahorel came over to the bar, looking more and more concerned the closer he got to Grantaire.

“Who did that?” He asked, looking pissed by the time he was in front of Grantaire.

“Oh this? I woke up like this.” Grantaire said, trying to laugh. “If you take me upstairs I’ll tell you all about what I dreamed about though.”

It wasn’t very subtle, but it didn’t need to be. If Bahorel wanted to know what happened he’d have to get them away from Thenardier.

Bahorel got the message loud and clear, paying Thenardier and taking Grantaire upstairs. When they were in the bedroom Bahorel watched as Grantaire winced and sat down. He was horrified to see Grantaire start to unbuckle his belt and grabbed his hands to stop him.

“Wait,” Bahorel said, “stop. What happened to you?”

Grantaire sighed and let go of his pants, the belt hanging still undone. “I… I don’t know if I can say.” He averted his eyes, not wanting to look at his friend.

“Tell me.” Bahorel said, before adding, “Please.”

Grantaire go up and limped to the door, peeking out to make sure no one was listening in. Satisfied, he closed it behind him once more.

“The walls have ears.” He said in explanation. Or more like Thenardier doesn’t trust him and may have set a guard. “Thenardier found out about me and Enjolras and he got angry, so he set the Patron-Minette on us.” He swallowed hard and continued, “Enj is deathly afraid of Montparnasse, so I um… I offered myself to him. I wish I could have done more for Enjolras, but, well. I was stuck in my own head most of the time.”

“Stuck in your head?” Bahorel repeated, looking confused.

“I… I don’t bottom for a reason, Horel. When I was a kid… when I was a kid Thenardier used me. And that’s all I can think about when I try to take it for someone, unless I’m drunk enough not to remember.” Grantaire said, putting his face in his hands.

“Is that why… whenever I come in you ask me to stay at the bar with you and drink a while first?” Bahorel asked, his voice taking on a numb quality.

Grantaire nodded into his hands. “I know you must not think highly of me already, since I’m a whore,” He said miserably, “but please don’t think badly of me after this.”

Bahorel couldn’t speak for a long moment. He got up from the bed and walked towards the door, causing Grantaire to look up from his hands.

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, getting up to stop him.

“I’m going to find Thenardier and kill him.” Bahorel growled, “No one should be allowed to do that to you. I shouldn’t be allowed to do this to you.” He looked at Grantaire with a frown, “I thought you were here of your own free will.”

“Not exactly. But we’re not allowed to tell anyways,” Grantaire looked back at the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bahorel said, matter-of-factly. He lifted Grantaire’s chin and kissed his split lip softly, “Stay here.”

“Bahorel!” Grantaire said, trying in vain to stop him, but the man was much stronger and he left the room. The rules dictated that Grantaire obey whatever the patrons wanted him to do, unless they were against other rules of course, and Grantaire was too afraid to disobey.

Downstairs, Eponine watched as Bahorel stormed up to her father.

“Was he not good enough for you? You knew he was discounted, no refunds!” Thenardier said with a laugh, before a solid punch was delivered to his face, sending him stumbling to the ground.

“You sick piece of shit!” Bahorel roared, launching himself on the man and punching him again and again, “These are people! You’re supposed to take care of them!”

Gueulemer was there faster than Eponine had ever seen the giant man move, prying Bahorel off of Thenardier. Eponine was frozen, unable to take her eyes off the spectacle, as were a good portion of the patrons.

“I don’t have to do anything.” Thenardier said, dusting off his pants and wiping the blood from a split lip. “But I am banning you for the next six months. Come back when you’ve changed your mind.”

Gueulemer needed Babet’s help to drag the struggling Bahorel off the property, and Thenardier announced that they’d be closing early tonight, bidding the slightly disgruntled patrons farewell and taking names down with the promise of discounts.

When the doors were shut, Thenardier looked at the stairs and called “Grantaire!”

Grantaire slowly came into view from the little balcony. “Yes?” He asked, trying to hide the fear in his eyes.

“What did you tell that man?” Thenardier demanded, crossing his arms.

“Nothing, I swear!” Grantaire said, waving his arms a little, “He asked what happened and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I told him I got mouthy with a patron and I got what I deserved.”

Eponine’s heart sank to hear her friend say that. He looked so nervous, but Thenardier seemed to accept his story.

“You should try to calm them better.” Thenardier scolded, and Grantaire flinched a little. Thenardier seemed to calm a little, himself and sent Grantaire back to his room.

When all the escorts but Eponine cleared out, she walked over to her father and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Papa,” She said, a word that she hadn’t called him since she was fourteen and began work here, “Papa, what’s wrong?”

“Some cops are sniffing around.” He said quietly, “I’m losing my mind, Ponine. And your mother is no help, she’s been trying to undermine everything. And Azelma is almost of age to be here, but she won’t let me take her.”

Eponine silently thanked her mother, before removing her hand. “I’m sorry, Papa. Try not to worry so much.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ponine. You’re the only person here I can trust to do what you’re told.” He said, before rubbing his swelling cheek and retreating to his office.

…

Thenardier was upstairs the next night, something he rarely did when patrons were there, but he felt the need to patrol for some reason. He got to his daughter’s room, but instead of the normal sounds coming from the other rooms, all he heard were hushed whispers, talking.

“So you’re sure this cop has evidence?” His Eponine was asking breathlessly.

“Yes.” The voice belonged to Marius Pontmercy. “Thenardier will be put away for good, just give it a week.”

“Oh my god.” Eponine’s voice was muffled. Thenardier imagined it up against Marius’s chest. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you, Marius.”

“And everyone knows?” Marius asked.

“Except for my father and the Patron-Minette.” Eponine confirmed. She was wrong about that.

Thenardier walked away from the door. Apparently no one could be trusted. He’d create a suitable punishment for her later.

…

The very next morning Claquesous wandered into Thenardier’s office, sitting in the chair and kicking his heels up on the man’s desk.

“I have some news for you.” He said, “But I want a deal for it.”

“What’s the deal?” Thenardier asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I get to punish the person who did wrong. However I want.” Claquesous said, grinning.

“Fine. What’s the news?” Thenardier said, thinking he was talking about Eponine’s discrepancy.

“Jehan and Courfeyrac have been fucking.” Claquesous said, picking at his nails. “For some time, probably. I found out when I was patrolling the halls after the patrons left.”

Thenardier ignored the fact that he had not authorized such a thing and nodded.

“Deal with it.” He said, waving the man away.

…

Claquesous “dealt with it” that night. After Feuilly had left Jehan’s room, Claquesous walked in, Babet in tow.

They left the boy bleeding on the bed and Claquesous cleaned himself up, sending Babet to fetch Courfeyrac to see what had transpired, before slipping out of the room.

The entire whorehouse heard Courfeyrac’s cry of “Jehan, no!” by the time Claquesous was downstairs.

…

Courfeyrac cradled Jehan’s broken body as the younger boy gasped for air. His chest looked dented oddly and he was coughing these awful, body wracking coughs, blood splattering his lips.

“Jehan.” Courfeyrac whispered, wiping at the blood with his shaking fingers, “What happened?”

“Courf…” Jehan rasped, reaching up to touch Courfeyrac’s face. He didn’t answer the question, but Courfeyrac didn’t really need an answer. He held Jehan’s hand on his face.

“Jehan, breathe.” Courfeyrac said desperately as the poet struggled to fill his lungs with air, “Please breathe.”

Jehan did his best, but it wasn’t really working out.

“SOMEONE HELP!” Courfeyrac screamed towards the door, clutching the slightly convulsing Jehan to his chest. “Please.”

Courfeyrac was confused as his vision became blurry, until tears fell on Jehan’s bloodstained face.

“Jehan.” Courfeyrac’s voice cracked as Jehan’s mouth opened again, like he was trying to say something, “What is it?”

“I… love you.” Jehan gasped out, before his face contorted in pain once more. His eyes fluttered closed and he continued to try to laboriously breathe, but it was like trying to lift a weight off of his chest without using his hands, useless.

“I love you too!” Courfeyrac said, cradling Jehan’s face, leaning his forehead to touch the other man’s. “Please keep breathing, please.”

Combeferre was suddenly there for some reason. Thenardier soon joined them, looking irritated.

“Please help him.” Courfeyrac begged both men, sobbing pathetically. Thenardier nodded and Combeferre gently took Jehan from Courfeyrac’s arms, setting him on the ground.

Courfeyrac watched in a fog as Combeferre tried in vain to revive Jehan, but it was no use. Jehan soon stopped breathing and Combeferre stopped trying.

“No!” The sound that tore from Courfeyrac’s mouth was wild and animalistic, “No, keep trying!”

“He’s dead, Courf.” Combeferre said softly, setting his hand on the man’s shoulder, feeling it shake as he sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

“Courfeyrac, get back down to The Showroom.” Thenardier demanded, “You have customers.” He turned to Combeferre, “Thank you, you may have a discount for your efforts. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It was no trouble.” Combeferre said, trying not to lash out at the indifferent man. “May I use it tonight?”

“Of course.” Thenardier nodded.

“I’ll take Courfeyrac for the night, then.” Combeferre said, “I didn’t get to have him last week.”

“Alright.” Thenardier said, leading Combeferre downstairs to pay. He looked over to see Courfeyrac sitting on the couch, trying in vain to stop his tears. He was visibly shaking as choked back tears. Enjolras was sitting next to him, holding his hand and looking concerned, but not talking.

After he paid, Combeferre took Courfeyrac back upstairs. As soon as the door was shut Courfeyrac latched on to Combeferre, crying into his shoulder.

“Why did that happen?” Combeferre asked, wrapping his arms around his friend. “Was it a patron?”

“No.” Courfeyrac replied in between sobs. “It… It w-was Claqu… Claque..”

“Claquesous?” Combeferre supplied, and he felt Courfeyrac nod. “Why?”

“He said… He said he heard us… together.” Courfeyrac wailed, crying even harder now, not retraining the ugly sobs. Combeferre felt himself tearing up as well, but swallowed hard and tried to contain them.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.” He said, tightening his arms around his friend. Courfeyrac didn’t reply and Combeferre didn’t expect him to.

After a while they sat on the bed, Courfeyrac burying his face in Combeferre’s stomach to muffle his sobs, crying his now dead lover’s name until he cried himself to sleep.

…

The next day was a Tuesday, and it was good, because the entire brothel was in mourning. Musichetta was alone in her room, she didn’t like to talk to anyone after things like this happened. She could barely even speak without crying. So she just fingered a little dried flower that was pressed in one of her books, a gift from Jehan, of the outside world, and did her own sort of prayers for him all day.

Eponine was comforting Grantaire, who was very close to Jehan. They hadn’t had too much time together, since they both wanted to spend their free time with their significant others, but now Grantaire regretted it, wishing more than anything for their old talks. He would barely speak while Eponine ran her fingers through his hair, shushing him as he silently cried.

Enjolras was trying his best to comfort Courfeyrac, but he really didn’t feel like he was helping at all.

“I’m sorry,” He tried to pat Courfeyrac’s shoulder, frowning. When he had been fighting against the brothels, he’d never even imagined things were so bad, but now he knew.

“I wish I’d never come here.” Courfeyrac sobbed. “Then I’d never feel like this.”

“Don’t say that…” Enjolras said, trying to find something better to say, “If you never met Jehan he would have probably been miserable here. He would’ve never gotten to fall in love with you.” Enjolras tried to comfort him.

This only seemed to make Courfeyrac cry harder, “But he’d be alive if it weren’t for me.”

“You don’t know that.” he shook his head, panicking a bit, he was definitely making things worse. “Without something to live for, who’s to say he would’ve?”

“My heart hurts.” Courfeyrac whimpered, holding his chest, “Jehan used to read me these stupid poems that we’d laugh about, where they talked about tragedy and losing your lover, but I never knew that there was any truth to it. But it feels like someone is slowly carving my heart out of my chest and I can’t stop it, Enj. I just… I need him back here to fix it.”

Enjolras didn’t know what to say. Seeing his friend cry was bringing tears to his eyes and his frustration at his own uselessness was making them fall.

“I’m sorry. If Grantaire and I hadn’t angered Thenardier maybe he’d have been easier on you.” Enjolras said, sniffling.

“Don’t.” Courfeyrac said, looking up, serious. “Don’t try to take the blame away. Don’t disrespect him like that.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure what that meant, but he nodded, trying to stop his tears. “I’m sorry.”

Courfeyrac buried himself back in Enjolras’s lap. “I just want him back.”

“I know.” Enjolras said, petting Courfeyrac’s hair. “I know.”

Later, after Courfeyrac had exhausted his tears and passed out, Enjolras snuck into Grantaire’s room. It was dangerous, but there were no rules forbidding them from being in each other’s rooms so he figured he was mostly safe. And he needed to see Grantaire, to remind himself that there was something in the world.

Eponine was there, but she was getting up to leave as Enjolras walked in.

“He’s asleep.” She warned, and Enjolras nodded. She nodded back, before leaving and shutting the door behind herself.

Enjolras sat next to Grantaire, brushing hair out of his face. His nose was taped up to keep it from moving as it healed, but the swelling in his eye had gone down significantly. He was still black and blue, and Enjolras could barely believe that what had happened to them was only a few days previous.

Enjolras let out a soft sigh, “I’m sorry Grantaire. I really am.” He looked down at the sleeping man, before looking away again, “I still love you, but I can hardly look at you. If I wasn’t weak, this would have never happened to you.” He swallowed. “But I still love you.” He shut his eyes tightly a moment, and when he reopened them, light tears streamed down his cheeks.

Grantaire stirred, inhaling sharply as if from a nightmare and looking suddenly at Enjolras. He looked confused for a moment, before a look of recognition came over his face.

“Enj?” He asked, reaching out to grab the blond’s hand. He intertwined their fingers and sighed, “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“That’s not it…” he quickly wiped his face with his free hand. “You worry too much.”

“I worry too much?” Grantaire said, sounding slightly amused, before letting his face fall back into its sad expression. “Why are you here now? Not that I’m complaining.”

“I wanted to talk… but now I don’t know what to say now…” he blushed, “It was easier when you were asleep.” he tried to joke.

“I can pretend to go back to sleep.” Grantaire offered, his mouth quirking up into a semi smile. “If that makes it easier.”

For a moment Enjolras looked annoyed, but he sighed a little, “Okay.” he nodded.

Grantaire let out a short laugh, before closing his eyes and breathing deeply, pretending to be asleep as promised.

“I wanted to thank you for Montparnasse… I wish you hadn’t done it, but thank you.” He took a deep breath, “I’m not avoiding you either, I just… I’m the reason you got hurt so badly, because you were always thinking about me over yourself. I’m sorry.” Enjolras sounded choked up, “I still love you though, that hasn’t changed. I hope it hasn’t changed for you, but I wouldn’t blame you if it did.” He found himself trying to keep his tears at bay with his sleeve, unable to hold them back.

“Enj,” Grantaire said, opening his eyes and sitting up. He pulled Enjolras into his arms, guiding Enjolras’s head so that it was resting on his shoulder, “I’ll never stop loving you, and nothing Montparnasse or Thenardier or anyone could do can change that.”

…

The next morning Thenardier paced in his office. He was too paranoid. Or maybe he wasn’t paranoid enough? His wife was trying to kill his business, his whores were planning a mutiny, and even his own daughter was in on it.

He opened the locked drawer at the bottom of his desk and pulled out a gun. In this day and age they were extremely hard to get ahold of, and the one he owned was not in his possession by any legal means. He looked at it, contemplating, before resting it on the desk and calling for a family meeting.

…

Eponine was running late to her father’s family meeting. Last night she had fallen asleep next to Courfeyrac, who had wandered to her room (the closest) in seek of silent comfort, which Eponine was excellent at providing.

Today was supposed to be the day that they were all to be freed by Marius, and Eponine had seen Joly and Bossuet eagerly awaiting outside for their Musichetta.

As she approached the office she heard a strange, loud popping sound. It shook through the house,

She ran into the office to see Azelma lying in a pool of blood, Gavroche standing beside her, looking horrified. Thenardier was holding a gun.

“Zelma?” Eponine asked softly, but she didn’t move, as her father’s gun was now trained on Gavroche.

“Gueulemer, please lock the door on your way out.” Thenardier said to the man Eponine hadn’t noticed standing by the door. “And take care of the others.”

Gueulemer nodded and left, leaving Eponine locked away with her family.

…

The rest of the escorts awoke at the sound of the gunshot. Grantaire bolted upright in bed, placing the sound immediately, as did Musichetta in her own room. She looked out the window at another sound, a rock tapping against it.

Joly and Bossuet were standing below. Musichetta opened her window to talk to them.

“What was that noise?” Joly asked, looking concerned.

“A gunshot.” Musichetta yelled down. The boys looked at each other and ran around towards the front.

The doors to The Showroom were glass, not even very thick glass, so they were easy enough for Bossuet to break. He allowed Joly to reach in and unlock the door, afraid his terrible luck would cause him to cut his hand, and then it would be much harder to rescue their damsel in distress.

Grantaire shook Enjolras awake, as they had fallen asleep next to each other last night. “Wake up,” He hissed, “That was a gun.”

Enjolras slowly woke up, sharply inhaling. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Grantaire said, getting up and creeping towards the door and opening it. No one was in the hall, so he beckoned to Enjolras to follow him. They heard the sound of glass breaking, but it was followed by Joly’s familiar voice cursing.

Musichetta snuck past them and went downstairs. Grantaire was about to follow her, but he heard a noise from Eponine’s room and walked towards it.

When they opened the door, Courfeyrac was there for some reason and all of the Patron-Minette members were there, Montparnasse hissing “I never got my chance with you.” , a sick echo of Grantaire’s words.

“Get off of him!” Enjolras yelled, running and tackling the man. He sat on his chest, getting a few good punches to his face before Montparnasse shoved him off and got back up.

“Gueulemer, Babet make sure the other one is still in her room. I heard a noise. Me and Claquesous will take care of these guys.” The leader of the Patron-Minette ordered. Gueulemer and Babet obeyed, leaving the room.

Claquesous and Montparnasse pulled out a knives. Grantaire’s heart raced in fear and he grabbed a half-drunk bottle of wine off of Eponine’s vanity, smashing the bottom. He handed it to Courfeyrac, who was standing beside him.

The three escorts glared at the Patron-Minette members for a long moment, before Grantaire’s concentration was broken, looking at Enjolras on the floor. Montparnasse took advantage of this momentary lapse, crossing the room and jabbing his knife at Grantaire. The brunette dodged, going under the man’s arms and grabbing him around the middle so he could pull him to the ground.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras cried as the two men rolled around on the ground, wrestling for the knife. He crawled over, trying to be careful of his still-bruised ribs, and grabbed Montparnasse’s shoulders, shoving him into the ground.

Meanwhile, Courfeyrac and Claquesous were keeping their distance from each other, glaring. Claquesous broke out into a smirk.

“You know your boyfriend was crying for you the whole time,” Claquesous taunted, “And of course you never came. But he never lost hope, he was sure you were going to come and rescue him.”

Courfeyrac let out something akin to a war cry and rushed at the man, brandishing the broken bottle like a sword. It caught Claquesous off guard enough that he got a cut on the man’s arm, but Claquesous quickly gained his composure and they were facing off at a distance once more.

Grantaire had finally gotten the knife out of Montparnasse’s grip when the sound of a second shot echoed through the building, making them all freeze for half a second.

…

Eponine launched herself at her father as he shot Gavroche. Her younger brother let out a cry of pain, before crumpling to the floor, but she couldn’t care about that right now. Now she was too focused on the struggle for Thenardier’s gun.

…

Gueulemer and Babet came downstairs to see Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta, about to leave The Showroom. Gueulemer grabbed Musichetta, dragging her back kicking and screaming, and Bossuet followed, grabbing at the giant man’s arms, trying to get him to release his hold.

Babet blocked Joly from trying to help as he watched Gueulemer struggle with the two adults who were trying their damndest to get him off of his feet.

Joly was too focused on the other fight, which left Babet the opportunity to grab him, as if he was hugging him, pinning his arms to his sides. Joly swung around, trying desperately to shake the man off, when a third gunshot went off and they stilled for a moment.

“Eponine.” Gueulemer grunted, and Babet nodded, but that assumption proved to be false as Eponine ran out of the office. holding a gun. She pointed it at Babet.

“Get off of him.” She snarled, and even though her hands were shaking Babet obeyed. She waited for Joly to get up, Gueulemer still struggling against Musichetta and Bossuet in the background. “I need a doctor.”

“Where’s Thenardier?” Babet asked, eyeing the gun warily.

“Dead.” Eponine bit out. Gueulemer stopped struggling.

“Who’s hurt?” Joly asked. Eponine glanced at him.

“My brother and sister. They’re in the office, please hurry.” She begged, and Joly nodded, running off.

“Thenardier’s dead?” Gueulemer asked as there was a loud crashing noise upstairs.

“Yes, your boss is dead. I suggest you clear out of here, if you know what’s good for you.” Eponine said, gun still trained on Babet.

Babet, however, didn’t need to be told twice. He took off running out the front door. There were too many records here with his name on it, and the police would be all over. He’d just have to lose himself in the shadows until it all calmed down.

Musichetta and Bossuet let up on Gueulemer, who ran out in the same manner. He was dumb, but he wasn’t dumb enough to stick around.

“What’s making all that racket?” Eponine snapped, annoyed at the noises from upstairs.

“Montparnasse.” Musichetta said, remembering that the leader of the Patron-Minette must still be there. “I think Grantaire’s still up there with the others.”

Eponine ran up the stairs before Musichetta even finished her sentence.

When she opened the door she saw many things. First, Courfeyrac was fighting Claquesous for a knife, a shattered bottle lying on the floor next to them, while Grantaire was sitting on a struggling Montparnasse’s chest, Enjolras holding a knife to the evil man’s neck.

“Get out.” Eponine said, drawing all attention to her and the gun, “And never fucking come back.”

Courfeyrac got Claquesous’s knife in that moment and held it to his neck.

“Please.” Claquesous said, as Courfeyrac pressed hard enough to draw blood.

“You didn’t let Jehan go. Why should I let you live?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Courf.” Enjolras called, his knife still to Montparnasse’s neck, but his eyes meeting his friend’s. “Let him go.”

“Enjolras, he killed Jehan.” Courfeyrac argued, slightly hysterical.

“If you kill him you’ll go to jail.” Enjolras said, “After all we fought for.”

“I’ll say it was self defense.”

“Let him go.”

Courfeyrac reluctantly lowered his knife, letting Claquesous run past, presumably out the front door and never to be seen again. He let the knife clatter to the floor and put his face in his hands, and started to sob.

Eponine ignored him for the time being.

“Let Montparnasse up.” Eponine said, “We can’t hold him. He’ll get sent to prison, but he’d make up some bullshit so that we’d get sent there right along with him.”

Grantaire and Enjolras got off of him reluctantly, having some satisfaction at watching him run away. They hoped they’d never see him again.

“Who knows a phone number?” Eponine asked, looking at them all. “We need to tell Marius what happened.”

At that moment there was a familiar voice downstairs, so faint that they couldn’t discern what it was saying, but definitely the voice of Marius Pontmercy.

…

Marius had arrived with Combeferre when Joly called him. They three had been in contact since Marius had come up with the plan to free their friends and loved ones, but they were shocked to see the place such a wreck.

“Oh thank god.” Eponine said from the top of the stairs. Marius thought she was talking about him until she ran down and stood in front of Combeferre. “Joly’s in the office, there’s two kids with gunshot wounds, their my siblings, please help.”

Combeferre ran off without another word and Eponine followed. Marius followed as well, not really knowing what else to do.

When they got to the office he saw that Joly was working furiously to stem the bleeding on a young woman who was lying on the floor. She looked almost exactly like Eponine, but with a different nose and aged back about ten years. It made Marius’s stomach roll over on itself.

Combeferre started applying pressure to a blood-soaked patch of gauze on a boy. Marius noticed a man lying behind the desk, blood seeping out from under it.

“I called emergency, but apparently brothels are low on their list of priorities.” Bossuet said bitterly, “They didn’t even listen to me, I tried to tell them that it as two kids, but they didn’t even care.”

Marius nodded, numb, before he thought up a way he could be useful. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

“Inspector Javert?” He asked when the other end picked up, “Marius. We have a bit of a situation here.”

…

One Year Later

After the death of Thenardier and Azelma, Eponine had been able to inherit the brothel, her contract nulled. With testimonies from everyone, from her mother to patrons to officers on the police force, she was able to get an acquittal for the death of her father and went to live with Marius and Cosette.

Cosette was a great comfort to her in the first two months. While Marius’s concept of loss was a dull ache for a parent who he never really knew, Cosette had lost enough to know what to say and when to say nothing at all. Sometimes she would just sit and let Eponine braid her hair for hours, the activity soothing them both. It was nice.

Marius, however, did understand how to mourn someone who you didn’t know you needed to mourn. Eponine was surprisingly upset about her father’s death, despite the fact she hated him. And Marius would let her just sit with him and scream and cry and beat pillows until she calmed down.

After a while she returned to herself. She would often get sad, but generally she was just… Eponine. It helped that Gavroche visited often, giving her weird odds and ends from his pockets and telling wild stories of what was going on in the underworld of the city. She always asked him to stay, but the boy needed to take care of their two baby brothers, children that were born after Eponine had been brought into the whore-house that she knew nothing about.

What really helped was the day Grantaire came over, telling her that she’d “better open the bakery soon, if I have to keep eating what Enjolras cooks I’ll die.”

She actually did want a job. After a bit of argument with Cosette and Marius (they just wanted her safe) she got a part time job at a pastry shop. This development would never cease to amuse Grantaire, but he very genuinely appreciated all the leftover food she gave him. Enjolras’s cooking was actually terrible.

Musichetta fit into Joly and Bossuet’s life like she’d always been there, which she had in a way. She still mourned Jehan, her friend, and Azelma, the quiet girl who came to listen to her read every Tuesday, but she did so silently. She visited her friends from the brothel often, and she got a job as a bartender soon after moving in, warning her boys that they’d have to be more careful with their money and she couldn’t believe they were living in such a terrible apartment so they could afford to see her.

Courfeyrac went to live with Combeferre. After a year he still wasn’t over Jehan’s death, and he didn’t think he would ever fully be over it. But he was getting there. Combeferre helped, they had assumed their old relationship as friends with benefits and having someone to hold onto every night certainly kept the nightmares at bay. Every day he’d become a little more like his old self, though. He was even cracking jokes and hitting on his friends again.

Feuilly and Bahorel became good friends with the rest of the group. They apparently lived together and were going out in a very open relationship. Grantaire went to visit every once in awhile and every time Bahorel reminded him that “we could have something like your other friends, you know. If you’d just ditch Goldilocks.”. It was all in good fun though, and Grantaire only got slightly offended when he said it.

Grantaire and Enjolras were still pretty fucked up. Sometimes they’d have night terrors or flashbacks that sent them back to the time before they were safe. Painting helped Grantaire. And drinking. It had been a problem for a while, Grantaire drinking to excess, until Enjolras and Eponine had a talk with him one night, a sort of intervention. He’d been getting better since then, but sometimes Enjolras would still find him curled up in the bathroom, wasted, crying about Jehan or Montparnasse or his own uselessness. Enjolras could never bring himself to be mad.

Enjolras, conversely, threw himself into legal battles and protesting. He was writing a book to try to bring light to the situation, the terrible ordeal they’d all been through, and he organized meetings every Tuesday at the Musain for everyone to meet up and talk. He’d never really felt a connection to other people before, barring Courfeyrac and Combeferre, but now he couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his friends every week.

Sometimes Enjolras got a little obsessive, and Grantaire had to remind him to eat. Grantaire’s paintings were selling enough for them to live comfortably in an apartment with Enjolras’s inheritance supplying what Grantaire’s paintings couldn’t cover. They were fine for now.

One day, after a meeting at the Musain full of joking and laughter, as if they had all been friends for a lifetime rather than trapped together. As they walked home Grantaire took Enjolras’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

“I love you.” He reminded him, smiling.

“I love you too.” Enjolras said, smiling back.

The circumstances that brought them together were shitty. And if Enjolras was being completely honest, he wasn’t sure that he, if given the choice, would trade having none of that ever happen to him for having Grantaire as he was now. He thought a lot about what Courfeyrac had said right after Jehan died, about how he wished he’d never met the poet so that neither of them would ever have felt that pain.

But rather than dwell on that, some nights after he awoke from night terrors Enjolras would think up a scenario in his head.

He would meet Grantaire after they succeeded in convincing the government that the prostitute laws were immoral, and Grantaire would have been set free. They’d meet at some sort of rally, Enjolras talking about some Cause and Grantaire would be there people watching and sketching, and then Enjolras would try to recruit Grantaire and Grantaire would laugh at him and Enjolras would try to prove him wrong and they’d end up arguing and both of them would be irritated, and then Grantaire would ask Enjolras out and Enjolras would be so surprised he’d say yes and everything would be great.

That’s not how it happened, though, Enjolras would remind himself, curling up into Grantaire’s side. And this was good enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the fic! Just so you know, the colors that everyone has to wear is as follows:  
> Grantaire- Green  
> Enjolras- Red  
> Courfeyrac- Blue  
> Jehan- Purple  
> Eponine- Red  
> Cosette- Blue  
> Musichetta- Purple


End file.
